Revenir
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: 31st October, 1981. James vanished, assumed victim of an unknown curse that destroyed his body. Corban Yaxley knows the truth—a truth he'll keep 'til the time is right. 16 years later, James breaks free. Trying to help his son in secret, he crosses paths with a young witch separated from her allies. A young witch who's the first kind soul he's met since that tragic night.
1. Prologue: The House in Godric's Hollow

Special Thanks to my friend (and reader) Flyer813 for soundboarding with me and helping me flesh-out the backstory on this mess.

THANK YOU to all the ladies of the Shrieking Shack Society (an FB group started by my beautiful friend ShayaLonnie). You've all been so amazingly supportive of, and receptive to, this plunny.

CANON-DIVERGENT AU. Yes, this is a 'James survived in secret' story. As such, the canon world proceeds as we all know it, with some tweaked scenes for continuity and emotional impact.

James-Centric Note: I've not read any fics with James as an active or central character, so do not expect his portrayal in this fic to be like one you may have read in another writers' work. There might be similarities, there might not, I've no idea.

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**Fancast:**

***Inclusion in this list is no guarantee the character will appear in the story**

Emmett J. Scanlan as _James Potter_; Tom Hiddleston as _Remus Lupin_; Jared Leto as _Sirius Black_; Michael Fassbender as _Corban Yaxley_; Alexander Skarsgard as _Lucius Malfoy_; Charlize Theron as _Narcissa Malfoy; _Jason Momoa as _Fenrir Greyback_; Adrien Brody as_ Severus Snape; _Karen Gillan_ as Lily Evans-Potter_

**If you do not agree with any of my fancasts, then I invite you to imagine whomever you prefer in the above-listed role[s]. The only reason I am in the habit of listing fancasts at all is because when I do not, I am constantly asked who I picture for the characters. This list is in no way a mandate of how readers 'must' view the characters.**

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from this work.

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**Prologue**

The House in Godric's Hollow

_Halloween Night, 1981_

_(16 & ½ Years Ago)_

Remus stared up at the house, forcing a gulp down his throat as Albus Dumbledore approached him, his footfalls careful, measured, and little Harry swaddled in his arms. The scene was . . . he shook his head, taking a moment to shield his watering eyes with his hand. Severus sat on the steps, leaning against the railing of the front porch as he gazed, sightless, out into the street. He held no love for the man, surely, but Remus thought he'd never seen anyone so stricken as Severus Snape appeared right now.

His stomach turned as the elder wizard came to a halt before him. He'd Apparated to exactly where Dumbledore had told him, not even certain what he was doing there until he saw the way Severus stumbled out the front door of an otherwise random house—one almost didn't notice the splintered spot where a small bit of the roof had been torn open if you stood in the right place—on a perfectly quiet street while Dumbledore made his way across that little porch toward the entryway. There hadn't even been a conversation, not really. Dumbledore had asked what had happened, but Severus'd only shaken his head. Had only gestured vaguely behind him and said a single word.

_Harry._

Remus had felt positively rooted to the ground, terrified of what sort of awfulness awaited inside the house. And then Dumbledore stepped out alone, carrying the tot. The beautiful little boy, already with his father's mad jet hair and his mother's brilliant green eyes.

At last, with Harry's pudgy little fingers reaching for his familiar face, Remus found his voice. "What happened? _Where_ are James and Lily?"

Impossibly, it was Severus who answered, his voice lower than Remus had ever heard it, full of anguish and self-loathing. "I tried to stop him," he said, sounding uncertain of whether or not he'd even spoken aloud. "It was too late . . . they were already . . . ."

Merlin, this was too much. Severus and James had hated each other, but they'd both loved Lily. Yet, even in a moment like this, Remus' mind interpreted what he was detecting in the other man's tone. Severus hadn't said_ she_ was already, he'd said _they_were. As much as he despised James Potter, Severus Snape felt responsible for not being able to stop the Dark Lord from killing _both_ of them.

"Lily is up there. _Terrible_ scene, Remus. I advise you stay here," Dumbledore said, his expression grave. Of course, Albus knew the scene_ appeared _clean, almost calm at first glance, but the sight of the witch who'd been so vibrant and witty, so utterly bursting at the seams with life, so still and empty now . . . even he did not possess the words to state how awful an image it was.

"What about James?"

"James is gone, I'm sorry."

Remus took hold of Harry, cradling the one-year-old in his arms—all the better for the child to grab at his jaw. "I don't understand."

Dumbledore let out a long, low sigh as he turned his head to look at Severus. "Rumor among the Death Eaters was that the Dark Lord was experimenting with new, darker, _deadlier _magics every day. I think he put one of those new magics to use on James. His body appears to have been destroyed."

That snapped Severus out of his agonized stupor. "_What?"_ Gripping his hands around the railing to pull himself to his feet, he gaped at the elder wizard in disbelief. "But he was there! I saw it myself! I saw Potter on the staircase when I ran inside!"

"Yes, Severus, but you were on the scene right on the heels of the Dark Lord's defeat. This new curse might've had a delayed effect. We all know James wouldn't have run, and you were the _only_ other person here, so unless you've another explanation for this?"

Severus swallowed hard and looked away. Of course he didn't have another ruddy explanation for it! He wouldn't have spit on James Potter to put out the flames if he'd been set ablaze, but Dumbledore was right, Potter _wouldn't_ have run.

"Oh, God, what is that?" Remus' concerned whisper broke the moment of silence that followed Dumbledore's question.

Both of the other wizards looked over to see Remus pushing the baby's jet locks off his forehead, showing an angry, red lightning bolt gracing the fair skin.

"That's the mark of a survivor, Remus," Dumbledore said, his voice taking on that wise and patient note both of the younger men recalled vividly from their days as students—so different from the harsher tone he adopted when dealing with matters of the War. "That's the mark that ended the reign of Dark Lord Voldemort."

Remus flinched at the name, but that Dumbledore said it openly meant it was true. Voldemort really _was_ gone.

Nodding, Remus dropped his gaze to Harry's as the little boy started to nod off in his arms, fingers still clutching the werewolf's chin like a favored toy. "What happens now?"

As Dumbledore opened his mouth to answer, the familiar sound of a rumbling engine cut the stillness of Godric's Hollow. Remus turned toward the noise, expecting to see Sirius—he needed Sirius here, beside him, here with him, hurting alongside him—but saw Hagrid astride the motorcycle.

"I called you here so that you could say goodbye."

Immediately Remus snapped his attention back to Dumbledore. His leaf-green eyes watered as he tried to form a response.

That kind smile—the one that still worked, even after knowing all the things he'd done in the name of winning the War—curved Dumbledore's lips behind his wiry mesh of white whiskers. "At least for a while. You'll see him again, someday. For now, however, I have to take him someplace outside of our world. It's the only way to keep him safe."

Remus' heart stung. Of course, of course. He couldn't take Harry—he was a werewolf, but saying _goodbye?_ Oh, he wasn't sure he could! He'd just lost James and Lily, Sirius was nowhere to be found, and who the bloody hell knew where Peter'd gotten to!

Swallowing his feelings, all that fear and anger and sorrow, Remus Lupin forced a smile of his own. Harry couldn't see it, as he was now soundly asleep, but Remus smiled, anyway. If he didn't at least pretend he was all right, he'd never be able to do this.

Cuddling the child close to his face, he said in a whisper, "Now, you listen here, Harry James Potter, you are the child of a great wizard and an amazing witch. Your mother is . . . was . . . ." God, his voice nearly cracked on that word as he corrected himself. "Was the smartest person I've never known. And your father was as fierce of a fighter as I've ever seen—and that's coming from a werewolf, we tend to know a thing or two about fierceness. Wherever you go, you make them both proud, you hear me? You stay strong, don't let the world harden your heart. And you come back to us."

Remus blinked a fresh wash of unshed tears from his eyes, but he wouldn't say goodbye. Instead, he tacked on, "'Til we meet again."

Hagrid, poor, ridiculously decent and caring Hagrid, was crying openly as only a half-giant could. Following Dumbledore's nod, Remus placed Harry in Hagrid's arms. Just when he thought nothing could make the groundskeeper seem larger than he already did.

Hagrid shared a knowing look with the werewolf and then turned back toward the bike.

"I'll be Apparating to reach our destination ahead of Hagrid in a moment, and Peter is on his way here now so you won't be alone, but first, Remus . . . ." Dumbledore shook his head, once more wearing that grave expression as he turned his full attention on Remus. "I'm afraid we have to talk about Sirius' role in what happened here tonight."

Remus' face fell. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but with these circumstances . . . . Swallowing hard, he nodded and braced for Dumbledore's next words.

* * *

James' skull was absolutely screaming as he cracked open his eyes. Vision blurry, he was aware of bleak lighting. Was there mist in the room, or was that just the blurriness?

He swallowed hard, only to wince at the sandpaper feeling in his throat. Felt like he was coming back from the dead. That was when he remembered the flash of acid green You Know Who had flung at him. So careless. He'd been unarmed, and so the wretch hadn't even concerned himself with James, casting a quick _Avada Kedavra_ and then moving past him on the staircase to reach Lily and Harry.

He hadn't looked back. Hadn't confirmed his kill, so self-assured he was. Hadn't noticed that the curse had missed its mark. But only by a hair's breadth.

Oh, that horrid burst of green had struck _just_ near enough that its lethal energy had lashed out as it zipped past James' head, knocking him cold. Perhaps even stopping his heart and his breathing for a few moments . . . yes, that felt possible.

He vaguely recalled hearing Voldemort speak, offering Lily one final chance to save herself and then her scream. And he _couldn't _move. He couldn't run to her and Harry—he could barely open his eyes! A second scream—an anguished animal sound—followed, and James couldn't even imagine what had just gone on up there.

At last, he managed to lift his lids the tiniest fraction, just enough to see. Severus halted at the foot of the staircase, his face a mask of shock as he stared down at James. He wanted to speak. Wanted to tell the Slytherin wizard to hurry up the stairs, stop whatever was going on, but his mouth wouldn't work.

God help him, he couldn't even draw a breath. He knew—he hadn't just felt dead, he must've looked it, too. Severus' reaction spoke volumes, then.

Gritting his teeth, he swallowed down a sound of anger and worry, spitting out the words, "Dammit, Potter," as he rushed up the flight of steps. But those words—words James had heard from Severus Snape over and over this past decade since they'd met as First Years—weren't bitter, instead they were remorseful.

It was sad, really. As much as Severus hated him, he hadn't actually wanted James _dead._ But James understood, because he felt the same toward Severus.

That was as much as he could hold on.

Finally managing to pull in a shallow breath, James lost consciousness. Just as Severus let out a grief-stricken bellow from upstairs.

"Severus?" he forced out the word in a rough, barely intelligible whisper. It was still odd not calling him Snivellus, but this was hardly the time for schoolyard mockery.

"Awake, are we?"

James shook his head, the back of his skull scraping rough ground through his thick, mad hair. He recognized that voice, he thought. His entire body ached as he forced himself up into a sitting position.

So many thoughts were crowding his aching head right now. Where were Remus and Sirius? Lily and Harry weren't safe, if they were even still alive. That Voldemort had found them could only mean they'd been betrayed. Peter had turned on them. James' chest was already hurting, icy fingers tightening around his heart, at not knowing what had become of his family, but to think one of his dearest friends was to blame only sharpened that agony.

Turning his gaze in the direction from which those words had drifted, he found the smug visage of Corban Yaxley watching him from the other side of a barred door. He didn't need to look about, James knew perfectly well he was in a dungeon. He remembered how funny it was when Lily had been so shocked at just how many antiquated pure-blood homes had dungeons cells in their basements.

_Lily._

"What happened?"

Despite Corban being the one who'd spoken first, he appeared to not hear James' question just now. Instead, he merely looked down at his hands in seeming inspection of his nails as he leaned against the wall just outside the bars.

"Do you know," he started, not bothering to look up, "that I never did trust that scrawny bastard Severus? And so, tonight, when the Dark Lord rather abruptly departed after a quiet aside with your twitchy little friend Pettigrew, I watched him. I watched, and sure as you're sitting there, Severus_ mysteriously_ slunk away. So I followed him."

James clenched his teeth, curling his hands into fists as he climbed to his feet. "What happened?" he asked again, his tone more demanding now.

"I found you on the staircase," Corban answered with a shrug, but still wouldn't look up. "I saw you _breathing_, but just barely. Don't know how you survived, but that's all right, no one else seems to think you could've lived through the attack, at all. So you and I? We've all the time in the world to have this discussion."

James' lip curled in a wrathful sneer. "Just finish talking, because I think I'm sick of the sound of your voice, already."

Corban seemed to take some twisted, visceral joy from his prisoner's anger. "I see almost dying hasn't dampened your spirits! Good. Well, anyway, so there I was, going up the stairs after Severus, and wouldn't you know it? I get to the door and look in and he's cradling that filthy, Mudblood wife of yours in his arms. Crying like the simpering wretch he is."

James refused to respond. Refused to let the Death Eater see what this news did to him. Corban Yaxley had no right to his tears or his pain.

"There was your precious little half-blood in his crib, screaming away, and I thought, I certainly don't want to be here, anymore, but I could hardly just walk out, either. No, no. When I reached the porch, I saw Dumbledore coming toward the house. I knew I didn't have long. And then—" Corban paused, uttering a proud chuckle— "then, inspiration struck. You see, there's always been debate about why the Dark Lord so feared an infant. The most popular theory is that he felt threatened because your son is destined to be a greater Dark wizard than Lord Voldemort, himself."

"_Never._"

"Well, we'll just see about that together, won't we?" Corban's features lost their humor, then. "You see, that's what you're doing here. You're _insurance_."

James thought he was going to be sick. This was too much, he needed Yaxley to go away, to leave him the bloody hell alone so he could breakdown like his heart and mind were demanding he do right now.

"I want the future my Lord promised," Corban said, his tone lethal. "I don't care how I get it. We were promised pure-blood rule of a peaceful and grateful Wizarding society, and I _will_ have it. I'll be keeping an eye out for when your son comes of age. If it becomes clear he's not following in the Dark Lord's footsteps, that is when he will learn of you. That is when he will find out that _your _life depends on his decision."

"Someone will come for me."

"Will they?" Corban smirked. "You've been out for a few days, Potter. I've had the chance to listen, to learn what's happening out there. They think you were killed by some mystery-curse known only to the Dark Lord that did away with your body, completely! And wouldn't you know? The Dark Lord's wand disappeared from the scene, so there is no proof otherwise. _No one_ is looking for you, Potter, because there's only one person in this entire world who knows you still live, and you're looking at him." Hell, he hadn't even breathed a word of this to his fellow Death Eaters. He trusted them about as far as he could throw Azkaban.

James Potter had never felt so helpless in all his life.

"Get comfy," Corban said in feigned cheerful tone. "It's going to be a long ten years."

James only glared at the other wizard. _Hold on, just a little longer_, he told himself, feeling his stomach turn itself in knots, gnawing at the raw emptiness there. Aware of each beat of his heart hurting.

"I should probably see about having one of my elves bring you food and water. Can't have you dying on me in here, now can I?" With that, Corban Yaxley peeled himself away from the cell door and pivoted on his heel, strolling through the dungeon at a leisurely pace.

Once James heard the basement door slam shut, he crumbled. Slamming his back into the wall, he slid down to sit in a slumped position, his fingers gripping into his hair as he exhaled a loud, angry sob. It was all gone. His life. Lily, his friends . . . .

_But Harry._

Harry was still out there, somewhere. Ten years. Yaxley had very pointedly said ten years, and Harry had only recently turned one. He would attend Hogwarts. He would be safe until then, James was sure Dumbledore had a plan to see to that—Dumbledore_ always_ had a plan. The assurance that at least his son was safe did little to stymy his pain.

Alone in the semi-darkness of his cell, James let out _everything_. He had no idea how long he went on, but he knew, he had to get it out, every last drop of pain and rage and frustration.

Had to get it out so he could think. So he could plan, yes.

Then, as he let out what he thought was his final tormented sob, a spark jumped to life around him. His red-rimmed hazel eyes snapped open at the burst of light he'd glimpsed just now from behind his closed eyelids.

That had . . . ? That had come from him?

Calming his breathing, he thought back carefully over what had just happened. Over everything he'd just felt. Yes, yes, there it was. His energy had collected as he loosed his emotions. Gathered and sought an outlet.

And then, spark.

It seemed so small, so simple. But there it was. He'd heard whispers about wandless magic, but so many people brushed it off as a myth that he'd never thought to see it. Especially not from his own power!

Giving himself a few moments, he tried again. Focusing on everything—the beat of his pulse in his veins, the mix of horrible, strangled emotions twisting around inside him, even the weight of the air against his skin—he directed that energy.

Another spark burst over his open palm.

James let out a startled breath. Yes, he'd done it! He could do this.

He _would _do this. Ten years. More than time enough to grieve, more than time enough to make himself stronger.

More than time enough to find a way to get back to Harry.


	2. One: The Dungeon & the Passage of Time

**Hello! Thank you for the warm reception! Before we get into this chapter, I need to address some concerns raised in a guest review. To everyone else, I apologize for this A/N, you can skip right to the story unless you're insanely curious.**

**1)** No, I don't believe it was suspicious, at all, that Dumbledore seemed indifferent toward Lily and James' 'deaths'. Dumbledore was a man who looked at things from all angles so that he could have contingency plan on top of contingency plan. He would've already been braced for the possibility that they would meet just such an end as soon as that prophecy came about. That aside, he also was not someone to wear his heart on his sleeve, so him acting calm in a chaotic or heart-wrenching situation [that had any sort of indication leading up to it] would really just be Dumbles being Dumbles.

**2)** James did think about Peter's betrayal. It was right there in his inner dialogue: _That Voldemort had found them could only mean they'd been betrayed. Peter had turned on them. James' chest was already hurting, icy fingers tightening around his heart, at not knowing what had become of his family, but to think one of his dearest friends was to blame only sharpened that agony._

**3) ** Sirius in Azkaban and James being held in an isolated cell in the bowels of the Yaxley Estate are two different scenarios. A situation presented itself that allowed Sirius to escape in his Animagus form. Whether or not James would need a wand to transfigure himself is a moot point, because it would serve no purpose. Yes, it might be able to try to ram the door, but he'd more likely injure himself, and even if he managed to, say, gore Yaxley on his antlers, he'd just be stuck with a dead Death Eater on the other side of the door, because I do believe Yaxley has shown himself too intelligent to be so thoughtless as to carry the key, or even his own wand, on him when he's within arm's reach of his prisoner.

**Guest who corrected me on James' eye color?** Thank you! So small yet embarrassing a slip. I wanted to crawl under a rock.

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**Hermione will show up in the next chapter, I promise!**

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**Chapter One**

The Dungeon & the Passage of Time

Ten years had come and gone. James had been counting the days—amazing he could keep track of it all, but it was simply one of the many things he did to keep his sanity in the near-unending monotony of his captivity. Oh, sure, Corban would be so charitable as to occasionally wander down into the dungeon and fill James in on the goings on in the Wizarding world, but other than that? His life was no more than waiting for the elves to bring him water or meals, pacing or even jogging in circles in his little cage just for some circulation, his practicing with that spark of magic he'd found himself able to summon on his first night as Yaxley's prisoner, and trying to avoid listening to a blessed word the Death Eater said unless the name of someone he actually cared about was mentioned. He had even found new methods for keeping track of time, merely for the sake of staving off the boredom that might just break his mind if he let it.

It took two years, three months, one week, and six days for him to stop kicking himself over his guilt. Sirius had been blamed for Lily's death, for his own 'death', and apparently for blowing up Peter and a load of other people whilst trying to escape? Accounts from his gracious host were fuzzy at best on that one, yet he knew it was rubbish, as Sirius hadn't needed to escape. It had likely been some ruse on Peter's part—after what that man had done, there was nothing he'd put past Peter Pettigrew. James'd always known everyone would assume Sirius had been his Secret Keeper, that was precisely why they'd chosen Peter, instead. And that meant the only person who could be held accountable for Peter's betrayal in the absence of any witnesses _was_ Sirius.

Two years, nine months, and three days for his heart to let Lily not be the first thing on his mind the moment he awoke each morning. He still thought of her, of course, but now he could manage to remember her without feeling as though his chest was being hacked open with a pair of Muggle gardening shears.

Four years, two weeks, and twelve days to not wake up in a cold sweat worrying himself sick over what had become of Harry. According to Yaxley—unfortunately, his one and only source for information—all trace of Harry had vanished from the Wizarding world after that fateful Halloween night that had shattered James' world. He had to assume that was for the best, that it was for Harry's protection. After all, if Dumbledore was involved, he had no choice but to trust that his son's safety was first and foremost in the elder wizard's mind.

The elves never so much as glanced up at him. He thought perhaps their master had ordered them never to look up the prisoner—a wise move. No one would ever be able to pry any information from them that way. Even if he told them who he was, they wouldn't care, they were proper pure-blood servants and he a well-known blood-traitor, after all.

The first spell James had mastered wandlessly, after much experimentation and many fits of exhaustion, had been a simple cleaning spell. Oh, certainly, the elves brought him supplies for basic grooming and hygiene upkeep—nothing he could harm or poison himself with, so only the most simple items had been made available to him—but after the first few weeks and noticing he was beginning to offend himself, he realized he could not last an entire decade living that way. And so, cleaning spell it was. Corban was too self-involved—and never quite got close enough to James' cell door—to notice that he did not smell even half as ripe as a human body kept under such conditions _should._

Stunners and other offensive spells bounced off the walls, dispersing after a time and leaving him to duck and hop in the attempt to stay out of the way—once or twice, said attempts had, in fact, set him right in the ricocheting energy's path. There was a particularly rough Confundus that had made him forget his own name for an entire day.

One thing it seemed he could not pull off without a wand, however, was Apparition. Try as he might, he could not leave his accursed cell.

Corban Yaxley had paid a visit the day he was working with the Imperious Curse. A spider who'd taken up residence in a corner of the cell, and whom he'd named Willowsby, as creatures who kept one company deserved a name, had provided him with a proper test subject. He felt a bit terrible for it, and so he had only coaxed the spindly-legged thing into spinning a new web. But it had worked, that was what was important.

On rare occasion, he even carried on one-sided conversations with Willowsby, but he never let himself be overheard. Not because he feared his captor would think his mind broken, no, no, but rather because he thought Yaxley might kill the little thing simply to deprive James of his only companion.

"So, what news do you bring me today?" James kept the elation out of his voice. It was time. Harry was in Hogwarts by now, he had to be. But he could not get ahead of himself. He could not get excited about the possibility of that door opening, of seeing his son at last, circumstances be damned.

"It seems . . . you shall be my guest a bit longer." Corban turned away to start back up the staircase.

"_What?!_" This time, James could not hide the emotion in voice—the mix of shock and anger—as he gripped his hands around the bars in his cell door. "At least explain yourself! You've kept me rotting here when death would be kinder! An explanation is the _least _you can offer me!"

Corban sighed, backpedaling down the step he'd taken. "It would seem . . . the Dark Lord is not as departed as we've thought. He somehow managed to return, possibly only temporarily, as some sort of parasite on a man named Quirrel. Apparently, he made an attempt on your son's life and was killed. I don't know yet what will come of this, so your stay here will have to last a bit longer, until I know how best to use your survival to my advantage."

"If a minion of You Know Who tried to kill my son, you what that means? That means my Harry can't be what you thought he would!"

Corban Yaxley actually laughed at that. "Oh, no. You see, what I suggested is still entirely possible. _Harry_ might've been targeted because the Dark Lord doesn't want competition. How simply your mind must work, Potter."

And then he was gone.

James slumped against the wall of his cell, feeling a bit of light go out of him. If this was how things were, Yaxley second-guessing his own plans every time there was a hiccup, he might never get out of here. Yes, perhaps it was best that he not get his hopes up.

Perhaps it was best that he bide his time, get stronger, still. The opportune moment would present itself for him to escape. Especially since he had a weapon Corban Yaxley would never guess at—pure-bloods thought wandless magic, beyond the most basic spells—was a myth.

Oh, that Death Eater was going to be _very _unpleasantly surprised.

* * *

Eleven years, and James was unpleasantly surprised, himself, with the news of a Basilisk being unleashed from the Chamber of Secrets to wreak havoc on Hogwarts. Apparently Harry had a Muggle-born friend who'd gotten herself petrified. Poor thing. Some nonsense about Lord Voldemort's diary possessing the youngest Weasley child? That seemed like madness on the face of it, even for a story from a world of wizards and witches that had a giant serpent rampaging through a castle.

Harry spoke parseltongue. That did not bode well for him_ not_ being the next Dark Lord.

* * *

Twelve years, and there came the story of Remus taking up a teaching post in Hogwarts, and Sirius breaking out of Azkaban. Oh, James didn't fret about that second bit of information. He knew Sirius would do everything in his power to protect his godson. Even if the rest of the world thought him a villain.

_Still_, the time was not right to reveal that the father of Harry Potter was alive. Honestly, James was starting to wonder if Yaxley had ever had a plan in the first place.

James thought if he could imagine a face on Willowsby's great-great grandchild—Willowsby, IV—who was now occupying that corner, it would mirror his own expression of eye-rolling disbelief.

* * *

The thirteenth year brought with it the World Cup, the Triwizard Tournament—which had somehow been tampered with to include Harry, despite that there were three champions, already, and that Harry was not nearly old enough—and another attempt on Harry's life. James was beginning to think Voldemort simply didn't want his son to enjoy the summer. Oh, surely, that was a ridiculous notion, but at this point, he thought it was rather silly that the man's followers, or his machinations, or whatever he'd left behind that was causing trouble now, always seemed to whittle away the year until the end of spring and suddenly the danger would present itself. He thought Harry must've caught on to the pattern by now.

Yet, as Yaxley retold of this particular year, James grew concerned all over again. He listened as Corban gleefully related the scene in Little Hangleton. That Harry's blood, and a sacrifice of _Peter Pettigrew_—the slippery little bastard—had been used in a ritual to resurrect You Know Who. That Harry had dueled the Dark Lord after watching his friend be murdered.

Somehow, Harry had survived, but no one believed him about Voldemort being back.

And still, James languished in his cell. He now realized it was not merely that Corban, as clever as he was, didn't quite have a plan anymore, it was that Corban had not let on about his _guest _to the Dark Lord. He didn't know if he should expect punishment or reward for his secret.

Oh, if only he could Apparate. He'd be out of this cell in a heartbeat and telling everyone how the wizard had willfully deceived his master and his brethren so skillfully for so many years.

* * *

The fourteenth year . . . . Sirius was _gone_. Whatever else Yaxley might've said before that fled James' mind immediately upon hearing this. Not dead, not truly, but gone forever, just the same. Knocked through the Veil by his own mentally twisted cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, and no one ever came back from beyond the Veil, so he might as well be dead.

That woman was a monster.

James' lip curled even as he took heart that the Ministry finally believed Harry's claims. If no one had killed Bella by the time he was free, he'd hunt her down and end her miserable existence, himself.

* * *

Year fifteen? Draco Malfoy was branded a Death Eater. Oh, James did not envy that poor boy. No doubt Voldemort had only made that decision to keep Lucius in line. The Death Eaters captured after the Battle in the Department of Mysteries—there was a certain swell of pride to thinking on that, Sirius' passing aside, in that Harry and his friends had proven themselves formidable enough to hold the Death Eaters at bay until the Order had arrived—had managed to escape Azkaban with the help of their odious leader.

Dumbledore was killed . . . by Severus? That made precious little sense to James. Did he . . . ? Was it possible Severus blamed Dumbledore for not being able to protect Lily?

But now, oh, now he had to get out. Without Dumbledore out there, was Harry even still safe?

And then it happened. Not right away, no. Harry and his friends managed to get themselves on the Undesirables list. James snickered at that—he imagined Sirius would've been quite proud. Of course, this also meant that Voldemort's followers had overtaken the Ministry. And they'd slipped through the Death Eaters' grasps for months.

James knew if he came forward now, he might only cause a complication for Harry—he was the biggest distraction from this new War that could possibly exist. No, he'd known what it was like to be in the place his son currently was. Harry was a young man, now, and he—like both his mother and his father before him—had somehow become a soldier. He needed to focus on the battle ahead.

Especially if all held true and he was the one who was to end Voldemort.

"Your son and his slippery friends have managed to get away from Bellatrix and Greyback. Can you even imagine?"

"You don't want to know the things I can imagine," James said darkly, his gaze fixed on Corban's face.

"There was some fuss about Godric Gryffindor's sword, your son's pet Mudblood was tortured—Bellatrix is certainly a woman who loves her work."

James only scowled harder. All the more reason to hate that witch—tormenting some poor young woman.

Corban shook his head, pressing his fingers to his temples. "They're all so bloody thick. She insists that the real one is in her vault at Gringotts, but it's not occurred to any of them to alert the bank, or go retrieve the bloody thing. I mean, if those three after the sword, and they're truly as crafty as they've shown themselves . . . ." He let his voice trail off, uncertain if it was shameful or expected that he found himself feeling a grudging respect for their collective cunning and cleverness.

"Gringotts?" James nodded, echoing the word.

It just so happened, Sirius had once learned of a way into the bank . . . . From the bowels of Diagon Alley. Oh, he'd never have stolen anything, but he did enjoy toying with the notion of 'what if?' James couldn't imagine another way to break in. If Corban was correct, and they were headed there whilst the Death Eaters were being too thick, or maybe too prideful, to consider the possibility . . . .

"But congratulations," Yaxley said, his voice unexpectedly chipper. "This is the day you'll breath free air."

"What?"

Corban drew his wand, aiming it at James as he moved closer to the door. "Oh, yes. You see, I might be rewarded,_ but_ if I'm punished, the Dark Lord will certainly be more lenient if I am the one to bring Harry Potter to him, and what better bait to lure your boy out than _you_?"

Yes, James realized. Now was the time. If he was_ truly_ free, he could aid Harry's efforts without revealing himself and distracting him. And Corban Yaxley could not turn to anyone to help track him down.

Holding Corban's gaze steadily, James marshaled his focus.

"I am going to unlock your door. No sudden—"

"Imperio."

James stared at the other wizard through the bars, waiting to be sure the curse had taken hold. It was an Unforgiveable, certainly, but who cared? The whole world thought he'd been dead for nearly seventeen years, he truly doubted anyone who mattered was going to give him grief over cursing a ruddy Death Eater.

"Unlock the door."

Corban smiled, reminding James that the effects of the Imperious Curse were said to be quite pleasant, actually. Sweet, calming, and whatever the caster willed seemed like the most wonderful idea.

"Of course," he said, unlocking the door.

"Now, you're going to switch places with me."

Yaxley pulled the door wide and stepped in. As James took his first steps outside of the cell in nearly seventeen years, he spun on his heel to face the new prisoner.

"Now, you're going to hand me the key and your wand."

Corban hesitated.

James cursed under his breath—he wasn't certain he had time for this. He slammed the door shut between them and changed tactics at the last moment.

For this one, he focused _hard_. "Obliviate." He'd had no one to practice memory charms on, and could only hope his time honing his other spells had an across-the-board effect.

When Corban's jaw fell slack, James nodded. Reaching through the bars, he snatched the key and the weapon while he had the chance.

Though he quickly locked the door and tossed the key aside, he took a moment to look over the wand. He had no need of it. But then . . . .

"This is the least of what you deserve," he said in an icy tone, holding Yaxley's gaze, he snapped it in two and let it drop to the floor.

After sparing a moment to bid a cheery farewell to Willowsby, X—what a good little arachnid family they'd been, keeping him company all this time—James turned on his heel and started for the staircase.

By the time Corban Yaxley came to his senses, he'd only know his wand was broken and somehow, his prisoner was gone. It almost made James laugh. Would Yaxley believe someone had come to help him, after all?

Oh, the very thought of what sort of paranoia that might grip the Death Eater as he wondered if anyone could've discovered his ruse was endless amusing.

And just when James thought nothing would feel better than simple freedom.


	3. Two: The Familiar Stranger

**Chapter Two**

The Familiar Stranger

Hermione watched as Harry climbed up onto the dragon's back. Certainly, she wanted the poor creature freed of its barbaric existence here within the hidden depths of Gringotts, and yes, they needed a way out, but this seemed like madness! Weren't they trying to_ not_ die before he faced Voldemort?

And what was that noise she kept hearing from below? Soft, incredibly distant; it might well be her imagination. She glanced over the ledge, momentarily distracted by what she swore sounded like footfalls echoing up from the craggy rock walls beneath them. Maybe it was just a bank worker lurking down there.

"C'mon!" Harry shouted, snapping her attention back to him, back to the insane scene of her best friend sitting stride that iron belly.

Nodding, she grabbed the length of her black, sopping wet dress in one hand and used the other to steady herself against the dragon's side. She climbed up behind Harry, feeling a bit shaky as she tried to find purchase.

Sooner than she felt securely settled, Ron was clambering up after her.

There was so much noise—she was certain she could still hear the clang of the dragon's chains as they hit the stone floor ringing in her ears—and chaos around them. The beast roared as it lifted off, the sudden boom of sound giving all three riders a start, even as they clung to the creature's back. Hermione felt herself slide sideways a little as those massive wings beat at the air, creating a harsh wind beneath the dragon's body and sending the goblins below fleeing for cover.

Her heart jammed itself into her throat as the upward motion jostled her further from a safe position. She scrambled to hold on.

"Hermione, grab my hand," Ron shouted from behind her, but his words were barely audible over the tumult.

She attempted to turn halfway toward the wizard, trying to catch hold of him as she kept one arm gripped around the bony spike protruding from the dragon's spine before her. They had no control over the creature, if _any _of them fell—

Too late she felt herself jarred from her place as the dragon picked up speed and she slid down his side and off.

The witch bit back a shriek of alarm as she tumbled through the air. Even as she gripped Bellatrix's nicked wand, ready to cushion her landing if she could, she thought Harry and Ron screaming her name as the dragon smashed at the roof might be the last sound she ever heard.

Pulling in a lungful of air, she screamed back as loud as she could, "_Go!_" There was nothing as important as Harry facing Voldemort—not even her life—and she could not risk that one of them might be stupid enough to try to throw themselves down after her.

If one of them _could_ survive this, it was her, and they all knew it.

Still, she braced for impact as she tried to turn in the air, the stone walkway and the scurrying goblins zipping by her.

Sucking in another breath even as the air felt ripped from her lungs and the plunge, itself, dizzied her, she opened her mouth to cast the spell as the ground came into view, rushing up to meet her.

But before she could get out the words to break her fall, she simply stopped. Barely two meters from that uneven stone floor, she hung suspended.

Her skin iced over and her heart hammered against her ribcage at this unexpected turn of events. She turned her head to look back up as her own breath thundered in her ears. Everything had happened so fast. Harry, Ron, and the iron belly were gone, and the goblins somewhere between that jagged patch of sky and this craggy rock face assumed her dead—unless this stop was some trap of theirs to ensure thieves they caught couldn't hope to escape by flinging themselves to their own deaths.

But Harry had gotten out. That was all that mattered right now.

"Seems I wasn't too late to help, after all," an unfamiliar voice said from somewhere nearby, relief threading his words.

Hermione snapped her head around, peering through the darkness. That hadn't been her imagination, after all! She _had _heard footsteps down here! "Um, if . . . if you're trying to help, could you maybe let me down?"

"Oh, right. Sorry."

She felt herself lowered, dropping the last scant bit of distance to land with a soft _oomph_. As she raised herself up on her elbows to look around, she saw a hand reached down to help her to her feet.

The cuff of the robe sleeve dangling around her rescuer's wrist was tattered and stained, like fabric so worn no matter how many times it was washed, it would never appear clean again. Did this wizard _live_ down here?

It didn't matter, he was helping, and she had to get back to Harry and Ron before they did do something to get themselves killed. Honestly, she felt like she'd spent the bulk of the last seven years of her life saving their skins!

Oh, wait. That was probably because she had.

Nodding, she slid her hand into the stranger's as she caught her breath, letting him pull her up to stand.

It was not until that moment—not until he felt the press of her skin against his—that James realized how long it had been since anyone had touched him. A shudder or relief wracked through him and he all but doubled over, a sharp exhalation rattling out of him as his fingers stayed clasped around hers.

At the contact, he became aware that until now, there was a part of him that hadn't thought this was real. A part of him that believed he was still languishing in that cell . . . that his mind had broken and his taste of freedom, his hope being reunited with his son, was a hallucination.

Immediately, the young woman crouched down, her brown eyes wide and her brow creased in an expression of concern as she peered up into his face. "Oh, no! Are you injured? I've medical supplies! I—I could help—"

"No, no," James said, letting out a breathy laugh as he shook his head. "I'm fine. Besides, you've no time to worry about me. You have to go help Harry!"

He straightened up and she moved with him, her face doubtful at his assessment—that shiver just now didn't seem like he was fine. But there was no way he knew of the commotion, or had seen her companions, from down here, and he was helping her rather than turning a wand on her. There was only one way, then, that he could know she was on Harry's side. "You're with the Order?

Another wash of relief, but he managed to contain his reaction, this time. James Potter was smiling—_genuinely_ smiling—for the first time in nearly seventeen years. The Order was still fighting!

"Yes!" James, nodded, thoughtlessly tugging on her hand as he turned. "We've got to get you out of here. Come, I know the way out."

Hermione stepped to follow . . . and stumbled over her own two feet, barreling right into his back at the spectacle of him holding out his free hand and producing a Lumos charm to hover atop his open palm.

He turned his head to look down at the confused witch just as she peeled her face from between his shoulder blades. The utter amazement in those brown eyes made him chuckle all over again. Yes, he was aware how uncommon, how utterly disbelieved wandless magic was, but he thought she was one of the Order, she was likely someone close to his son. If _she_ wasn't safe, who was?

"Sorry," he said as she scrambled back to put space between them while still holding his hand. "I should've warned you. I've . . . been without a wand for a while." James shrugged. "Had to learn to improvise."

Hermione was . . . well, there weren't words for how impressed she was. She'd pulled off minor feats of wandless magic, herself, but _this_? He was talking to her, he'd been walking at the time, and he managed to hold the Lumos steady without concentrating much.

She looked him over from head-to-toe, then. He appeared clean, and he didn't have an odor indicating he was unwashed, his dark hair was longish, disheveled . . . looked a bit like it had been roughly cut with some crude implement, actually. He had a beard that obscured his features a bit, and his hazel eyes showed faint creases at the corners, but she had the impression those lines were from long periods of stress and worry rather than smiles.

He actually reminded her of some of the less-fortunate souls she'd glimpsed wandering the dark recesses of Knockturn Alley that time Harry had pulled her and Ron to spy on Draco in Borgin and Burkes.

"You were undercover?" she asked, sussing out for herself that if he was meant to hide amongst those people, he could not risk being caught with his wand on him. If they realized he was an impostor, it might tell them his identity and put those he cared for in danger.

James rolled his eyes in thought, nodding. "You could say that, c'mon."

"Have we met before?"

As she let him guide her along, he once more glanced over his shoulder at her. "No."

Hermione frowned, pensive, but kept her mouth shut so he could focus on the path beneath their feet. He looked familiar, but she could not place where she'd seen him or how she might know him.

After a few winding stone corridors that she thought must once have been used by the bank as some sort of transport area—long forgotten now, clearly—she began to see a bit of light. As they neared what was most definitely an opening in the rockface, he extinguished his Lumos. "Do you have any idea where to find Harry?"

She nodded, relieved to be able to tell from here that the tunnel let out on a small section of deserted shoreline. She'd easily be able to Disapparate without anyone seeing her. "I think so."

James turned to face her, one eyebrow arched. "You _think_ so?"

Hermione sputtered a laugh in spite of herself. He was right to worry about her uncertainty. They were really down to the wire on ending this War, there was little time for her to run about looking for Harry if she were wrong. Thinking strategically, she could guess where Harry needed to go, next. Voldemort was aware by now they were after the Horcruxes and there were only precious few left; it seemed highly likely he'd want to move the one hidden in the castle to protect it.

"I think he'll go to Hogsmeade. He knows coming back for me was never an option, and he _has_ to get to Hogwarts to complete the mission we're on before he faces You Know Who." She knew that was a bit cryptic as far as explanations went, but she couldn't know who in the Order was aware of the Horcruxes and who wasn't—it wasn't as though she was prying about his identity, either, now was it?

"I hope you're right."

She nodded. "Me, too. Oh, I should probably change before I go out there," she said, nudging her chin in the direction of the shoreline. "I stay like this much longer, I'll catch my death."

His brow furrowed, as it was now his turn to give her a head-to-toe once over. She didn't appear to be carrying anything on her. "I'm sorry, I was unaware 'accio robes' actually worked in a pinch."

"No, no," she said, with a laugh and a shake of her head. Hermione relinquished her hold on his hand, bizarrely aware of how cool and empty her fingers felt in the absence of his, and bent to retrieve her beaded bag from inside her boot. Miraculously, the hiding place had kept the bag—and thus it's contents—dry. "I've a change of clothes in here."

"Oh!" Those hazel eyes shot wide and he looked about. "I suppose I'll just . . . turn around, then."

She glanced toward the opening in the cavern wall. "Or," she started, shrugging and crinkling the bridge of her nose. "You could maybe stand watch at the entrance?"

He followed her attention, noting the darkening sky outside. That bit of shoreline might be vacant just now, but there as no telling if some passerby, looking for somewhere to be alone, might not wander along. "Right."

Hermione held in yet another laugh as she watched him station himself at the opening with his back to her. She knew she had bigger concerns, knew Harry and Ron were trying to think and plan around being worried sick for her and wishing that if she survived the fall, she hadn't suffered any sort of crippling injury. Yet, she found herself hoping that maybe when the War was over, she might cross paths with her rescuer again.

There wasn't an ounce of regret in leaving her 'Bellatrix Lestrange costume' in a graceless pile on the ground as she gratefully pulled on warm, dry clothes. Unbinding her damp hair, she carefully rebraided, knowing the last thing she could spare the time to concern herself with was the state of her typically wild mane.

"Okay, I'm ready."

James turned around and immediately froze at the sight of her attire. This was her! The one Yaxley had called Harry's 'Mudblood pet;' the one Bellatrix had tortured. His brows pinching together, he said, "You're a Muggle-born."

A wary expression overtook her features. "I thought everyone in the Order knew about me."

"I was away for a long time," he said, his voice brittle.

"Oh." She swallowed hard, nodding. Hermione wouldn't pry, this wasn't the time and it was frankly none of her business, but she could imagine he'd probably sacrificed much in his service.

"Well . . . ." He forced a smile. "You're here. Best be on your way."

She started toward the entrance, but just as she moved in front of him to step out, she paused. Pivoting on her heel to look up at him, she said, "You're not going to stay here, are you?"

"No." He smiled and shook his head. She didn't even know him, yet she sounded so troubled at the notion of leaving him in such a treacherous place. James thought he couldn't have imagined the first person he'd encounter after being Yaxley's prisoner for so long would be someone like her. He held up his hands. "But I'll have to find my own way. Can't Apparate without a wand, and you're in a hurry."

"Nonsense. I'll just bring you side-along."

He frowned, looking to the sky once more. Night had fallen. Maybe he could get away with moving out in the open right now.

After a moment of thought, he said, "Do you think that's where it'll happen?"

She furrowed her brow, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Hogwarts? You said completing your mission before Harry faces You Know Who will take you to Hogwarts. There's a chance, then, that they may cross paths there. Harry's going to need all the help he can get."

Her shoulders drooped. Yes. It was entirely possible this trip to Hogwarts could be their last. If Harry and Voldemort were_ both_ there . . . . It could be the day that decided the entire War.

She forced a gulp down her throat, nodding. "Yes, I do." Perhaps she shouldn't have been so forthcoming with him, but she found her instincts telling her she could trust this man.

"Okay. I'll go with you to Hogsmeade. We'll split up when we get there. You _find_ Harry, you make sure he's safe." He didn't want his son to fight that monster, but he knew it was a fight seventeen years in the making. Everything that had happened had put Harry at the center of this, and there was no stopping it now. Prophecies were annoyingly tricky that way.

He couldn't let Harry know he was there, not yet—it would only serve to confuse and distract him—but he could be there to bolster his son's strength, unseen.

James knew he'd only endanger Harry, otherwise.

She nodded, once more slipping her hand into his and drawing her stolen wand. Hermione couldn't help but notice the way he sneered at the sight of Bellatrix's ugly, twisted weapon.

"Nicked it during a fight."

He grinned, bracing for Disapparition as they walked out to stand on the shore. "Well done."

The second word was lost to the void as they were wrenched through the dizzying whirl of magical travel. Reappearing on a side street, he actually did double over this time, barely holding in a dry heave.

"My God," she said in a hissing whisper, aware of the sound of some commotion not far from them. "You _are_ hurt, aren't you?"

"No," James insisted, bracing his hands on his knees and breathing deep. "Just been a long time since I traveled via Apparition."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Hermione didn't like the idea of leaving the man on his own as he straightened up.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Thank you."

Her brow furrowed. "For what?"

He felt a smirk curve his mouth. "For being worried about me."

She pursed her lips in confusion, but sooner than she could work up a response, the warmth leeched from air and the streetlights dimmed.

The witch turned, her wand out before her, ready to strike as she and her familiar stranger said in the same breath, "Dementors."

"Expecto—" Her own summoning was cut off at the sight of that blue-white stag thundering down the main street of Hogsmeade, light and warmth returning in its wake.

"Harry!" she whispered, excited and relieved all at once.

James' throat tightened and he could feel his eyes water as he watched the beast disappear beyond their range of vision. "He has the same Patronus as his father."

Hermione nodded absently. "I have to go. Please," she said, turning to look back at him as she grasped his hand one final time, "stay safe."

For a heartbeat, he only stared at her. How had he been so fortunate that this brilliant creature was first person he met after his escape? Smart, strong, capable . . . and genuinely worried for a total stranger.

God, James thought he could—

Hermione shot forward, pressing her lips to his. It was foolish. A stupid, impetuous impulse, but hell, they both might die tomorrow, and this had been an experience she didn't want to forget.

The kiss was brief, only a brush of her mouth over his, only the quickest second of shared breath.

He looked at her in a daze as they broke apart. "I was going to do that."

She laughed, breathless—oh, this was _so _not the time for this! "Why?"

James shrugged. "For luck? We both might die tomorrow, thought we could use all the luck we can get. You?"

She couldn't help but smile, even in this moment when she could hear footfalls heading in the direction from where the Patronus had emerged. "Same."

"Go," he said, his voice barely a thread of sound. "Find Harry!"

Hermione nodded and turned back toward the street as he stepped back and took a better look around, gaining his bearings. She knew the direction the stag had come from. The Hogshead was there, she could Apparate to the alleyway beside it.

She glanced back at him one last time. He nodded and turned, taking off on foot in the direction of the castle grounds.

Giving herself a steadying shake, she Disapparated.

The moment she popped back into existence, she heard a rasping whisper. "Potter, get in here!"

She didn't even give her stomach time to settle, dashing around the corner. The witch collided with the air, forcing her to stumble back a step.

"Oh, God, Hermione!" Harry whispered in a rush of relief. He latched a hand around her wrist and pulled her under the Invisibility Cloak beside him just as he and Ron were hurtling themselves through the open doorway of the pub.

"Up the stairs, and be quick about it," the man who let them in muttered as he passed them and stepped out onto the street.

There was no time for explanations or excitement that she was all right and had managed to find them. "C'mon," Harry said in her ear as they moved behind the bar and headed for the staircase.

"Thank Merlin you're okay," Ron murmured, his words buried under the din of the patrons.

"No one's more thankful than I am," she said, happy to be safe, happy to have found them, though there was a tone of finality in her hushed voice—trust Ronald Weasley to try and have a conversation under these circumstances.

Once they were up those stairs with the door closed behind them, Harry whipped the cloak off of them and pulled her into his arms in a breath-stealing hug, followed by one from Ron. Ron who sounded like he might just collapse in relief.

"How did you manage?"

Hermione shrugged, hoping to keep them focused on finding their way to Hogwarts. "I had help."

Ron and Harry exchanged a glance. "From who?" they asked at the same time.

Again, she shrugged, fighting a smile despite their dire situation. "I never got his name."


	4. Three: The King of Timely Rescues

1) Narration in any scenes which overlap with canon may vary from the narration in the DH book, despite having the same dialogue. This story does rely more heavily on the books as far as canon, and so the scene of Ron and Hermione kissing in the Chamber of Secrets doesn't happen here, and scene when their kiss 'would' happen in the books really wasn't in the film, anyway, and . . . eh, you'll see when you get there.

2) Yes, Severus is bitten by Nagini and she's got some nasty venom, but it's never made clear in the book if he dies from the venom, or simply because she struck at such a vulnerable spot, and thus injecting her venom would've been unnecessary. So, I'm going with exsanguination as his cause of death.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

The King of Timely Rescues

Dust and blood and the scent of things burning—wood, hair, flesh, cloth—hung heavy in the air as the chaotic scene of battle unfolded all across the grounds of Hogwarts.

James had successfully reached the castle under the cover of night, evading being spotted by enemy forces, or even those he, himself, might recognize within the boundary of that familiar, well-remembered property. There was much rumbling, but nothing was truly happening, yet. He knew they were waiting for something. Some pivotal thing that would tell them it was time to act. And he understood that what something was.

The arrival of his son to the castle grounds.

He knew they would not come here by any direct and visible route. They would find some way to sneak in, that had to be how they managed—if they tried in any expected ways, they'd never make it.

But the days that had passed since escaping Yaxley, remaining hidden, the lack of food, only the water he could summon with his wandless magic in the palms of his cupped hands, the sheer exhaustion that had followed the rush of adrenaline after helping that witch escape Gringotts, caught up with him. If he didn't rest now, before sunrise, he might be completely useless tomorrow and everything he'd done to come and help Harry would be for nothing.

Fortunately for him, his long imprisonment had allowed him to find comfortable sleeping positions in even the most unforgiving landscapes. Locating a hidden, if cramped, nook just outside the courtyard wall, James Potter had curled himself into a ball beneath the ragged folds of his robes and closed his eyes.

* * *

"Hang on a moment," Ron said, shaking his head. "We've forgotten someone."

"Who?" Hermione asked, stopping short and whirling to face him.

"The—the house elves. They'll all be down in the kitchens, won't they?"

Harry arched a brow, uncertain where Ron was heading with that observation. "You mean we ought to get them fighting?"

"No!" Ron shook his head again, frowning at Harry—wasn't he the one championing the cause of Free Elves alongside Hermione during that awful S.P.E.W. debacle? "I mean we should tell them to get out! We don't want any more Dobbies, do we? We can't order them to die for us—"

His words were cut off by a loud clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded from Hermione's arms and hit the floor. She stared at him wide-eyed, her hands clamped over her mouth.

"What?" Harry and Ron demanded in unison, appearing just as startled as she did.

She only gaped back at them, scrambling to right her thoughts. At Ron's verbal defense of the elves, the words had skittered across her mind that she could kiss him. But that only reminded her of the handsome stranger who'd rescued her at Gringotts yesterday; only sent the sense memory of his breath ghosting over her parted lips dancing across the delicate skin.

If that hadn't happened, she might've just run right over and kissed Ronald Weasley full on the mouth! _Now_, in the middle of all this! And yet, as much as she was sure she'd wanted that for too long a while as it was, now she had misgivings.

It made her wonder, was her mystery wizard somewhere here, as he'd said he'd be? Somewhere out there among the fighting?

Collecting herself in time to not make her mental stumbling obvious, she let her fingers slip from her mouth as she said in a breathless tumble of words, "I just never thought I'd hear you speaking up on their behalf! I'm_ so_ proud of you." She cast a half-hearted glance at Harry as she stooped to pick up the fangs. "Bit disappointed in you, though. Help me here, would you?"

"Oh, right." Harry nodded, pushing aside how he felt abashed for a moment that Ron Emotional-Depth-of-a-Teaspoon Weasley had shown more compassion and sensitivity toward the house elves than he had, as he hurried to help Hermione.

* * *

Images drifted across the backs of his eyelids as he dozed. Some of them attached firmly to the touch of a hand, to the glimpse of chestnut-brown eyes and a nervous, if sagely grin, and the quickest brush of a soft mouth against his. Of course, he'd thought as he'd pulled himself back to consciousness with the sounds of spells firing and crackling in the air, she'd been the first pleasant thing he'd encountered in over sixteen years. It made sense his mind would cling to her.

Easing himself up onto his knees, he peered over one of the stooped stone walls. There was absolute anarchy going on all over the bloody place. Everywhere he looked there was fighting, a creature lurking from the shadows to attack the combatants. How long, and how deeply, had he been sleeping?

It didn't matter, he had to get in there to suss out what was happening. In the chaos, it was unlikely anyone would notice he wasn't using a wand to defend himself, but he still couldn't risk being seen by anyone who might recognize him just yet.

_Not a problem_, that part of him that had learned so well how to scrape by in a pinch said, _looks like some folks have already volunteered to let me borrow a cloak._

Bracing for the sudden jolt of movement so soon after being jarred awake, he launched himself over the wall, landing on one knee and the flat of his palms on the other side. He only spared a moment to glance about before snatching the cloak from the nearest fallen wizard and whipping it up around his shoulders. He'd have to thank Corban Yaxley, as strange as it seemed—giving him time in a cage with nothing to do but work on his magic and jog in circles for hours on end every day had clearly helped him keep in fighting shape.

As he tried to get his bearings, determining which way to head, he heard a single name. _Remus_.

He snapped his attention toward that voice. A young woman was hollering, demanding to know where her husband was. Well, times certainly had changed! Yet, there was no moment to spare for the sad, inadvertent reminder that Sirius was no longer with them.

Though not changed that much, apparently. Aberforth Dumbledore looked as curmudgeonly as ever as he shouted back that Remus was off dueling Antonin Dolohov—good God, why was _that _bastard not dead, yet? Aberforth was disappearing into a cloud of dust over the bridge, and the young woman—with brightly colored hair, could that really be little 'Dora Tonks all grown up? Remarkable, yet another notice for which he had no time!—followed after him.

Remus. He'd go check on Remus and then come to find out where Harry was. If his other companions were nearly half as capable as that young woman he'd met last night, then James felt he could trust that Harry was safe for the time being.

Besides, he wasn't sure he could trust _himself_ not to run to his son when he finally did see him. And he certainly wasn't sure he could stand idly by when the moment that Harry faced off against Voldemort came to pass.

Pulling up the hood of the cloak over his head, James took off after Tonks.

Beyond the whirling plumes of dust and smoke that obscured anything past the bridge, he saw the duel unfolding. Remus, poor, always-weary Remus, was battling fiercely as Tonks picked up her pace, all but barreling toward her husband. And just in time, it seemed, because as she neared him, James spotted another figure appearing from the tumult to flank Dolohov.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

James could just feel a rumbling sound of anger in the back of his own throat at the sight of her. That she'd clearly been trying to come onto the scene and assist her fellow Death Eater to overpower his opponent only added to the list of reasons he _hated _that bitch.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Tonks shouted, running up beside Remus to engage the other witch.

James hung back a bit, circling the scene, trying to stay out of sight, even as he readied himself to fire off a Stunner.

Remus was hissing under his breath to his wife, his expression troubled. She shook her head, answering in a tone equally hushed as they dueled the pair of Death Eaters before them. James tried not to laugh. He'd once witnessed the very same thing between the werewolf and Sirius—arguing _like a married couple_ right in the middle of combat.

Whatever she said in response to Remus had relaxed him a little, letting him refocus entirely on Dolohov. Yet, Tonks was distracted, herself.

"_Avada Kedavra!" _Bellatrix's scream split the air and 'Dora Tonks dropped to the ground in that terrible flash of acid green.

James felt like he'd been punched in the gut, but not so much as when he saw Remus take his eyes off his opponent. "Oh, no, no, no," he murmured, his head shaking as he saw the vicious grin curving Dolohov's lips.

As he saw a bolt of slashing purple flames erupt from the Death Eater's wand, heading straight for Remus.

"_Stupefy!"_

His stunner hit Remus just in time, knocking him down, out of the path of whatever the bloody hell that curse hurtling toward him was. There was no time to feel relieved at his own quick intervention, no time to regret that he'd not been able to save 'Dora. Bellatrix and Dolohov immediately turned to look for the source of the mysteriously fired stunning spell.

He said he'd kill Bellatrix, and God help him, he wanted to, but for now, he needed to get them away from Remus before they decided to finish the job.

James fired wildly at them and took off running. Glancing over his shoulder, he aimed a few more shots at them as he moved, ensuring they'd give chase.

"Brilliant plan, Potter," he muttered to himself under his breath, "now you've got two mad Death Eaters on your arse."

Whatever, he was good at improvising. He'd figure out a way to shake them, just so long as they were far enough away to give Remus time to recover, though he didn't envy his friend when he did come to and once more saw his fallen wife lying beside him.

* * *

There was so much going on that James nearly didn't spot them at first as Harry, some ginger-haired young man—probably one of the Weasley clan—and that witch from Gringotts went running in the opposite direction.

They were headed for the Forbidden Forest! That was_ madness_!

Having shaken his pursuers, he wheeled around to follow the trio. After a few meters, however, he noticed where they were going. The Whomping Willow. And there could only be one reason to go that bloody menace of a tree.

That made sense now, as he could hear bits and pieces of their conversation as they hurried off. They were going_ to_ Voldemort.

Oh, James couldn't let them go alone.

He needed to get to the Shrieking Shack, but that would require . . . . Oh, he was so thick! Honestly, had he knocked his head on something unbeknownst to him? There were wands scattered all over the place, dropped from the hands of fallen witches or wizards.

Distasteful as it was, he hurried back to the nearest body and nicked their wand. Glancing back toward the Willow, he saw it was stilled, and the trio was nowhere in sight.

He nodded to himself, bracing for Disapparition, and then willed himself to appear outside the Shrieking Shack. The moment he popped back into existence, he ignored the swell of sourness in the pit of his stomach, holding the appropriated wand in his left hand as kept his right hand up, palm out, to strike at anyone who might have witnessed his arrival.

_No one._

Or so he'd thought, until he heard the unsettling, rasping wail of Voldemort's voice. He was in the Shack, somewhere, that was certain. Lowering his arms, he plastered himself against the wall and carefully edged his way around the perimeter.

Avoiding the windows, he made his way toward that terrible voice. It seemed to be coming from the cellar. The same place where the tunnel from the Whomping Willow let out!

"Kill!" He heard Voldemort shriek the command, panic welling in his chest.

Forgetting entirely about being subtle, he ran to the cellar window. Crouching down to peer in, ready to launch a spell through the long-broken glass panes, if need be, he saw that it was not Harry Voldemort had made that command toward. Severus Snape was crumbled on the floor, swiping feebly at a gaping wound on his throat. Voldemort and his followers were leaving.

He moved to slip in through the window, but in the absence of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, the crates blocking the end of the tunnel were shoved aside, seemingly by nothing at all. Then there was a shimmer in the air, and Harry, the Weasley wizard, and James' brown-eyed witch appeared. So, Dumbledore had passed down James' Invisibility Cloak, after all. Clearly his son was putting it to good use.

The three approached Severus, and oh, James could tell there was no love loss there, but then Severus was waving his free hand weakly in the air, beckoning them closer. James could see the silver tear that fell from Severus' eye then.

"Take . . . take it . . ." he said, his voice low and hollow.

Harry seemed conflicted, even as he found a vial. Even as he did as Severus pleaded with him to do and collected the memories in that tear.

Severus' arm fell to the floor with a dull, sickening thud. The trio, aware there was nothing to be done for him, retreated back down the tunnel.

When he was sure they were out of earshot, James finally slipped in through the window. Landing not far from where Severus lay, he hurried over to him.

Pressing two fingers against the inside of Severus' wrist—as Lily had once shown him, insistent that he learn 'Muggle first aid' the moment she found out she was pregnant—James stilled himself and breathed steadily.

_There_. Slow, discouragingly slow, and fading, but his pulse was there!

"You think I'm going to just sit here let you die, you son of a bitch?" Ripping a bit of his tattered robes from the hem, he wadded up the fabric and pressed it tight to the wound. Resting his other hand over Severus' chest, he murmured a brief shock spell, giving Severus just enough of a jolt to drag him back into consciousness, but even that was just barely.

Those black eyes blinked, the simple movement slow and labored. Severus looked up, certain this must be a hallucination drummed up by his dying mind. "Potter?"

"Dammit, Snivellus!" James snapped, hoping the unpleasant moniker was enough to let Severus know James Potter's appearance here wasn't a work of his imagination. "Tell me the spell to reverse the damage! I _know _you know one!"

Shaking his head in a sad, wobbly gesture, Severus mumbled the words, though he wasn't sure why he was bothering. He was dying, that some delusion had shocked him awake for a brief moment, and was just as mean as the _real_ James Potter, made no difference.

Uncertain he'd heard the right collection of syllables, James tried, repeating them anyway. "Sano vulnere."

Impossibly, blood that had run down Severus' neck and seeped into his robes began to recede, crawling back up along the Slytherin wizard's skin. James snatched the wad of fabric back—noting in surprise that the blood had also leeched out of that when it had still be in contact with the Severus' throat—to watch as the lines of crimson retracted, filling back into the wound before it sealed itself closed, the blood vessels beneath righting and closing themselves, as though the fatal gash had never been delivered.

James fell back on his arse, staring at the other wizard with wide eyes. "I can't believe I just did that."

Severus shook his head again, only to wince. The wound was gone, but the soreness from Nagini's fangs tearing into his artery remained. "Neither can I. How the hell are you alive?"

Shrugging at the whispered question, James said, "Yaxley. It's a long story. I'll tell you if we both survive the rest of this mess." He climbed to his feet and started toward the tunnel.

James tacked on, in apparent afterthought, "You tell anyone you saw me before Harry faces Voldemort, and I'll come back and reopen that wound."

Severus scowled, looking about as he merely touched gingerly at his freshly healed throat. "Pretty sure I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, Potter," he murmured.

"Oh, one more thing, Severus."

It was the use of his actual name that snagged the dark-eyed wizard's attention. He returned his gaze to James.

"Thank you for trying to save Lily all those years ago."

"I don't need your thanks for that, I never did."

James groaned. "Well, you've got it anyway, you little shit."

Severus . . . actually snickered. "Fine. You're welcome."

Nodding, James granted him a grudging half-grin before he turned on his heel and headed down the tunnel back toward Hogwarts.


	5. Four: The Second War's End

Sticklers for canon plot points will have noticed that I sped up the time at which the Golden Trio leaves Snape at the Shrieking Shack. That was necessary for what I think would be obvious reasons (or, at least, _one _very obvious reason), cutting off an important monologue. I'll be correcting that bit of timeline fudging in this chapter.

This chapter was EXHAUSTING. It contains a LOT of canon reference, which, even with my memory, meant going back and constantly rereading the scenes that are implemented here. Again, the narration is different, even if the dialogue/monologue in canon-based sequences is the same.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

The Second War's End

James was already in the tunnel when he realized he needed to slow down. Dammit all, he'd dropped that ruddy wand back in the Shack. He'd go back for it, but he didn't exactly have time for another chat with Severus. Apparating back to the castle would certainly have been preferable if he wanted to stay out of Harry's sight until this was all over, but just now, he could hear that the three of them were still in the tunnel, up someways ahead of him—possibly already at its end.

That was when the cold and cruel voice of Voldemort tore through the cramped, dark space. James had turned, trying to aim behind him as best he could in the tight confines of the earthen passageway, certain the closeness of the words meant the serpentine wizard had returned to the Shack and now stood behind him at the tunnel's entrance. He ignored a momentary flash of concern for what that would've meant for the oh-so-recently revived Severus.

"You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet, you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen."

_My arse_, James thought with a mirthless smirk as Voldemort prattled on, that high, icy voice projecting so that he spoke to the entirety of those in the areas surrounding Hogwarts—the Forest, the streets of Hogsmeade, even here in a literal hole in the ground where one could assume they'd be blessedly free of such things.

His terrible, rasping tone was inescapable. "Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful."

Blimey, could he simply _not _with speaking of himself in third person? James'd much like to punch him right in his flat, snaky face.

"I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured."

It was sickening, this paltry show of mercy . . . trying to make himself seem not so awful to those who might still be swayed, to those who might be faltering in their beliefs after all they'd suffered so far. But James Potter knew better. When Voldemort showed mercy, it was only because it would grant him what he needed all the faster. And even that was never a lasting concession. His mercy would vanish the moment the Dark Lord got what he wanted from the situation.

"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."

That sounded a little more like Voldemort, claim to offer them mercy in one breath, and then turn around and threaten the lives of _children_ with the next. He was glad this nightmare was nearly over, and for more reasons than being reunited with Harry.

James could hear a hushed burst of frantic conversation from the far end of the tunnel, though he couldn't quite make out the words. He waited until there was silence, until he heard the shuffling and rustling that accompanied their movements cease.

The last thing he wanted was to be close enough that they might look back and assume they were being followed. Worse, that they were being followed by a mysterious, cloaked figure in the dead of night—because that sort of imagery always went over_ so_ well with people who were armed and already nerve-wracked.

Emerging from beneath the Whomping Willow, James immediately had to duck and roll out of the way of a sweeping branch. Of course they'd reactivated the bloody thing, they were smart and were well aware there was every chance someone had lagged behind at the Shack and might be trailing them. Case in point? He was.

As he got himself steadied, out of reach of the Willow's massive branches, he saw the trio already climbing the stone steps of the castle. He didn't like it—there was too much risk of being spotted—but he had to see, he had to walk in there and look upon the faces of the dead.

The Hogwarts grounds had never been so chilling and desolate as they were now, whilst he walked toward those very same steps. There was no one out here, even the Forbidden Forest was silent; not a single rustle of leaves or growl of one of its denizens, not even the chirp of some brave, lone cricket.

He thought he'd never heard anything so terrifying in his life as the ringing emptiness of the battlefield.

Just as he reached the steps, he had an idea. While he'd been following the trio, he'd noticed the witch and the ginger-haired wizard were covered in a layer of soot—as if they'd been subjected to Floo travel gone awry. Though he'd known it was them because he had recognized Harry with them, and could not forget her voice or those huge brown eyes of hers if he tried, the dark, gritty mask had obscured their features.

He paused, reaching down to scoop up a handful of dirt and smeared it across his face. Satisfied that between his beard and the flaky little clumps of earth his looks were muddled enough that no one could possibly recognize him at a glance, he proceeded up the steps and into the castle. He would be just another wizard on the side of the Light, weary from battle, no more, no less.

The entire building felt as though the life had been drained from it as he stepped through those doors. This was not the Hogwarts he remembered. It was like entering a long-abandoned house—that chill in the pit of the stomach that warned curious parties away. There was a hushed murmur coming from beyond the entryway of the Great Hall.

James halted, ducking into the shadows reflexively as someone hurried out of those doors. _Harry_. James curled his hands into fists, quite deliberately digging his nails into his palms to keep himself focused and stationary—to keep himself from running after his son as the young man took off up the staircase, clasping the container with Severus' memories to his chest.

He was seeking a penseive. That would likely take him to the Headmaster's office.

James only watched Harry, a sad smile curving his lips as his son disappeared into the upper levels of the castle. For a moment, he thought he could hear the remembered sounds of his friends' laughter filling the corridor around him. Arguments with Lily, lewd jokes from Sirius, trading barbed, sniping comments with Severus, Remus forever fussing that there simply was not enough time for studying thanks to their Hogsmeade weekend shenanigans! Peter—he sharply cut short that particular recollection. So many memories here, which only made the place seem more deathly empty just now by contrast.

He forced himself to return his attention to the Great Hall. James almost didn't want to go in there, but he forced himself to approach. Forced himself to cross the threshold.

No one even batted an eye at another weary soul dragging himself into the massive chamber. They were huddled in groups, tending wounds, and sparing this hour to grieve.

The dead were laid along one wall and he saw Remus. The werewolf sat, hunched—hunched, but very much alive—and staring down at 'Dora's still form, not even seeming to blink. The Weasley clan, a blonde witch, and his Gringotts witch were gathered, sobbing, around the body of a lanky, ginger-haired wizard. He didn't need to hear them to know, he could tell by their body language. Molly and Arthur Weasley had just lost a child.

Clearing his throat, James averted his attention from the scene—he had to—and wiped at his eyes.

That was the moment when he felt the weight of a stare on him. Frowning, he couldn't help but look up, searching for the source.

He found himself watched by one distinctly familiar palomino centaur. There was a bleeding gash in his flank—leaving him unable to stand—and Madam Pomfrey fussed, in that way James remembered, himself, as she tended him.

Firenze's wide, pale-blue eyes were fixed on James, his head tilting side to side as he tried to discern the mystery wizard's identity. After only a moment, his white-gold eyebrows rose in a mix of recognition and bewilderment. Bloody centaurs having that annoying, ethereal sixth sense of theirs.

James flicked a quick glance about, assuring himself no one else had noticed him, and then returned his attention to Firenze. Making a pained, pleading expression, he held a finger to his lips.

Firenze did not appear happy about the plea for secrecy—centaurs weren't exactly known for being subtle or taciturn creatures, despite their tendency to speak in cryptic, riddle-like patterns—but nodded.

A dark-skinned young woman, seeming to notice Firenze's distress, but not the source of it, came hurrying over to him. Catching his hand in hers, she settled in front of him, claiming his attention as she spoke to him in a low, cooing tone. Clearly, she'd thought blood loss was making him unsteady and was trying to give him something to focus on. Her mannerisms though . . . .

James hid a snicker as he shook his head. Ah, yes, even when he'd been a student, the witches had, for lack of a better term, fawned over Firenze. It was as though his pretty face and lean musculature from the hips-upward made them forget entirely that from the hips-downward, he was a _horse_.

He winced then, once more shaking his head as he hoped Firenze being half horse didn't have something to do with the appeal.

A wizard came striding through the doors, then, the body of yet another fallen student slung over his shoulder in a firemen's carry. Blond, impossibly small seeming as he hung there—as the wizard carrying him moved delicately to lay him beside the other bodies. Remus flicked a glance back toward the new addition, only for his eyes to shut tight and his shoulders to sag further, still.

James prayed the boy wasn't as young as he looked. Willing combatant or not, the thought of someone so young dying in violence was horrific.

When he realized time was dragging on, yet Harry had not reappeared in the Great Hall, he felt a flutter of icy, sickening panic curl through the pit of his stomach. His gaze trailing off—toward Lupin, toward Firenze, toward the witch who stood, now, hugging an unabashedly sobbing wizard who must be the twin of the Weasley's fallen son, because the resemblance was simply uncanny—he turned and walked back out the doors.

He moved fast, taking the steps two at a time as he launched himself up the staircase. He couldn't seem to stop, even as a voice in his head reprimanded him, warning that if Harry was still up there, his urgency might make a meeting unavoidable, he had to check on him. No one could be sure one or more of Voldemort's followers hadn't slipped into the castle's depths during the chaos of battle and encountered Harry when he'd been alone.

Voldemort might've claimed an hour's reprieve, but James would sooner babysit screaming mandrakes than believe a word that came from that snaky bastard's mouth.

Reaching the door to the headmaster's office, he found it open. It was never open. Either something had gone wrong, or his son had left in a hurry.

James rushed up the staircase, barely stopping himself from crashing his shoulder against the doorway as he hurtled into the office. Empty. The penseive was still out in the open, set upon the headmaster's desk, and the portraits . . . every last one was empty.

Looking to the grandfather clock, he saw that barely twenty minutes of that allotted hour remained. Harry could only be on his way to meet Voldemort, he must've bypassed the Great Hall so no one would see him leave.

So no one could try to stop him.

There wasn't a clear thought in his head as James ran back down the stairs and worked his way through the castle as fast as his legs would carry him. If anyone who saw him was curious about the blur of a figure that burst out the doors and out into the night, he never knew.

It seemed forever before he reached the treeline and crossed into the Forbidden Forest. Where Harry and Voldemort were to face off beyond that, he couldn't be sure, so he simply continued forward from the point where he'd entered.

The horrible, unnatural silence assaulting his ears was broken by a familiar voice shouting. "_Harry, no!"_

Hagrid? James forced himself to run harder, following the shouted words when the half-giant let out a second pleading shout.

"_No, no! Harry, what're yeh-?!"_

"_Quiet!"_ another voice hollered, no doubt one of the Death Eaters.

Closer, he was closer now, and there were footfalls and half-heard conversation through the trees that covered the sound of James' own footsteps.

Too late he heard the words of the Curse split the air.

_No._ James flung himself the last few steps to finally see the break in the trees. He could glimpse the clearing where they were gathered.

He could see Harry, face down the forest floor.

James was frozen in place. His lungs refused to work, all sensation drained from his limbs.

There was some discussion, then, among the dark throng before him. Voldemort was not paying them any mind, however.

"You." He was not gentle in getting Narcissa Malfoy's attention, hitting her with a quick hex, and a painful one if the small shriek that erupted from her was any indication. "Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead."

The command—because it was very clearly not a request—gave James pause. Gave him a dreadful flicker of hope. Voldemort wasn't sure his Killing Curse had taken Harry's life, so maybe there was a chance it hadn't!

From his vantage point. James could see Narcissa's features as she knelt beside his son, even as her long hair swept down to shield their faces from the Death Eaters and their Dark Lord. He could make out the quick, hushed words that fell from her lips as she was leaned over him, apparently checking for a heartbeat and listening for breathing. Now, she wouldn't be asking Harry anything if he could not answer, would she?

But she did! She pleaded in an impossibly quiet tumble of sound to know if Draco was alive. James thought back quickly. Yes, he'd seen a young man with that silver-blond Malfoy hair sitting alone and looking like he just might jump out of his skin at the slightest provocation in the Great Hall, among the injured and mourning.

He didn't hear Harry's response, but he_ saw_ his son's lips move in answer.

The relief through him was so great, his body sagged against the tree beside him.

Narcissa stood and spun to face the Dark Lord, her voice steady, unwavering as she lied to him, "He is dead."

"You see?" Voldemort shouted in triumph, his voice clear over the sudden outburst of thrilled cries from his followers and Hagrid's abrupt sobbing. "Harry Potter is dead by my hand, no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! _Crucio_!"

James bit back a sound of rage at the display, but he knew Voldemort was nothing if not a bully. That he gained some twisted satisfaction from abusing what he believed to be a corpse. If he rushed in there now, he'd reveal Harry's ruse and get himself killed, possibly get them both killed. The one thing that gave James comfort was the minute rise and fall of Harry's chest after that quick wash of red light faded, only visible to him because was watching for it so painstakingly.

There was a whirl of activity, then, the Dark Lord carrying on a one-sided discussion with himself over how to procced. After he'd reached his decision, Hagrid was released and commanded to carry Voldemort's fallen nemesis back to Hogwarts. The poor half-giant couldn't contain his misery, still crying in huge, gulping sobs as he lifted Harry, his hold gentle, as though he cradled an infant.

"Move," Voldemort commanded, turning toward where James was hidden within the shadow of the trees and started walking, leading his followers back toward the castle.

James scrambled out of the way, the sound of his movements once more hidden under those of the Death Eaters. Darting his gaze about, he waited, holding back until they were past him and then he fell into step just behind them.

It seemed only by the grace of whatever powers that be no one spotted the odd, unfamiliar extra person trailing the group—not the Death Eaters, who likely assumed him another Dark wizard on their side, come to watch the confrontation if they did notice him—nor the full grown giants who crashed along behind them.

Hagrid was yelling at the centaurs who'd stayed behind, hidden in the forest as the battle carried on earlier. Who'd stood idle as the Death Eaters and their leader had tromped into these very woods and threatened the whole of the Wizarding world.

The Death Eaters threw their own slurs and jeers at the creatures as they walked.

"Stop," Voldemort said, once more with that tone of command as they reached the edge of the forest. Magically magnifying his voice as he had after that terrible scene at the Shrieking Shack, he addressed those in the castle. "Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone!"

As earlier at the castle, James had to dig his nails into his palms to keep from reacting—he only barely stopped himself from calling out in anger. Of _course _Voldemort would lie—as if his son would've run? No, Harry had come to meet him. He'd gone to what he thought might well be his death with his head held high. And, from what he'd witnessed in the last half-day alone, anyone inside that castle who truly knew Harry Potter would _know _Voldemort was full of shit.

"The battle is won. You have lost half your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family."

Disgusting bastard.

"Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters, will live and be forgiven—"

Oh, wasn't that just so bloody kind of him?

"—and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

There was no great rush of movement to follow his command, no outcry of voices begging for his mercy. Nothing, whatsoever, to be heard from the castle grounds.

Voldemort commanded his troops forward again, Hagrid still sobbing Harry's name as they approached Hogwarts. The Death Eaters were an absolute flurry of motion and sound, themselves, giddy, it seemed, at their apparent triumph. Only Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy seemed reticent. And Yaxley? Oh, James would admit it was fun to watch Corban Yaxley flinch at every unexpected sound, as though he expected his escaped prisoner to come screaming at him from the shadows at any moment.

His captor would get what was coming to him.

Voldemort again commanded them to halt, the cluster of Dark wizards and witches unfurled to form a line, facing the open doors of the school. James took the opportunity to ease back from them, ducking away from the Death Eaters, but remaining close enough to act when the opportunity presented itself.

Suddenly that empty doorway was filled with motion and noise as the occupants began filing out. Unable to take Voldemort at his word, there were cries and shouts of disbelief as they saw Harry, hanging limp in the half-giant's arms.

"_Silence!" _With that shouted word, a Silencio charm slammed down over his enemies, quieting them.

Voldemort bid Hagrid lay Harry at the serpentine wizard's feet. The action was followed by a commotion, and he unleashed the same sort of hex he'd used on Narcissa Malfoy on the young man who'd rushed forward, disarming him and dropping him to the ground.

James didn't need to hear the discussion that followed to know who this was. Frank and Alice Longbottom's son, Neville. His heart still hurt for the fate that had befallen them.

As if to confirm his recognition, Bellatrix laughed that high, mad laugh of hers as she answered her master's inquiry about the brave lad. "It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The one who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?"

Neville, for his part, got back on his feet, seeming uncaring that he had no means to fight back against whatever Voldemort might do. He appeared utterly lacking for fear as he stood alone between the opposing factions.

"Ah, yes, I remember. But you are a pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy?"

Neville went right on seeming unimpressed with the creature before him. "What if I am?"

"You show spirit and bravery, and come from noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."

James dared say a cruel smirk curved Neville's lips—well, he certainly liked this young man. He hoped Neville and Harry were friends. "I'll join you when Hell freezes over. _Dumbledore's Army!_" he finished in a shout.

Voldemort's powers were not so fierce as he thought, that or those opposing him were stronger than he gave them credit for, because the Silencio broke under the weight of the responding shouts from the crowd. James didn't even have time to question what the hell Dumbledore's Army was—was it a branch of the Order? He thought perhaps it was, as when his gaze found the figure of his brown-eyed witch in the swath of people facing them, she had been one of those crying out in response to Neville's words.

Voldemort did not like that. He harped and grumbled, summoning the Sorting Hat from within the depths of the castle. The battered thing came hurtling through a window to land in his hand. On he moaned about doing away with the Houses, and set the Hat upon Neville's head.

With dull, building horror, James realized Neville was locked in place—at some point during all this, Voldemort had cast a Body-Bind charm—as the Dark Lord set the hat ablaze.

Unable to hold himself idle any longer, James stepped toward the horrible scene. But in that same moment, all hell broke loose.

A sound erupted from the forest, like some massive force stampeding toward the castle. Giants began fighting, crashing into each other, and Neville broke free of the charm. James wasn't sure how it happened, but after throwing off the Hat, Neville wrenched Godric Gryffindor's sword from inside it—the boy was a Gryffindor heir?!—and moved in blink, slicing the head clean off Voldemort's murderous pet.

Hagrid screaming for Harry drew his attention. His son was nowhere to be seen, and James had to remind himself that Harry had the Invisibility Cloak. Whatever he was up to, he knew what he was doing.

The entire battleground was chaos. Hippogriffs descending from the sky—seemingly out of bloody nowhere, as far as James could tell—and the centaurs proved they had heard Hagrid; proved that his words had affected them as they came charging into the scene, engaging the Dark forces in combat as readily as the Light, now loosed from whatever hold the sight of Harry's 'dead' form'd had over them.

This was his chance. James run into the tumult, searching for Yaxley. He stopped short as a load of house elves poured from the castle, wielding dangerous kitchen tools like weapons as they ran into the fray. James actually watched the spectacle for a moment—could that really be _Kreacher_ leading the charge?—before giving himself a shake and returning to his search.

The fighting seemed to travel all the way into the Great Hall, and James followed it. Ducking and sidestepping on his way, he finally saw him. The face of Corban Yaxley. Two younger wizards had him pinned to a wall, one of them the deceased Weasley's twin.

James couldn't help himself, this was too perfect. A prisoner for so long, and now he should come upon his captor when he was immobilized so.

A truly bright, possibly vicious grin curved his mouth as he waved, deliberately catching Yaxley's eye. Oh, yes, even with mask of mud on his face, he knew Corban recognized him. With a flourish that let the Death Eater see how he conjured the spell with his bare hand, he unleashed a Petrificus . . . with just a_ little_ bit of a Crucio edging the magic.

When the young men holding Yaxley turned to look toward the source of their assistance, James shrugged. "Bind him. He deserves to be locked away. With any luck, they won't let him get out this time."

He moved on, only to halt as he saw Molly Weasley, pushing her daughter, the brown-eyed witch, and blonde girl out of her way as she engaged Bellatrix in ferocious combat. An angry Molly Weasley was something no one wanted to face.

"What will happen to your children when I've killed you?" God, Bellatrix sounded more insane than even Voldemort. "When Mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?"

Molly screamed, unleashing a curse without speaking its name. "You will never touch our children _again_!"

Voldemort shrieked in anger as Bellatrix fell, his wrathful voice a sharp contrast against the cheers that went up around them. Molly Weasley deserved that victory more than he did, James decided. Yes, Bellatrix had killed one of his best friends, but if her familiar mention could be taken seriously, she was the one who'd murdered Molly's son. If Molly Weasley didn't deserve to take revenge, then no one did.

Voldemort ignored those he was dueling and turned his wand on Molly.

"_Protego_!" Harry's voice split the air. As the shielding charm poured through the center of the grand room and Voldemort glared about looking for the source, Harry threw off the Cloak.

There went Voldemort, amid the gasps and relieved shouts confirming Harry's survival, bellowing again, but James could no longer hear his inane, useless words. He was too focused on his son. For the first time since this began, he could see Harry clearly. He could hear his voice without compromise.

Fearless, determined . . . . Aware the weight of the world was upon him and striving to move forward, still. James' heart actually ached as he watched the scene. He had no idea he could feel this much pride.

Harry and Voldemort argued, spitting words at each other as they circled one another, the entire rest of the world seeming to fade for them.

But then some of what Harry was saying slipped through. Could it really be possible? Had his son really become the rightful owner of the Elder Wand—the Elder Wand Voldemort was foolishly insisting on trying to use against him?

The Dark Lord's hubris truly knew no bounds.

His heart leaped into his throat as Voldemort cried out, pulling James from his stupor, "Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The spells collided, a terrible sound tearing through the Great Hall. Flames erupted from the impact point, as though the magics were too powerful to only manifest properly, giving way to the explosion. The force of it jarred the Elder Wand from Voldemort's grasp, and the weapon came careening toward its owner.

Harry caught it smoothly in his free hand, only seeming to belatedly look back—belatedly watch as Voldemort fell, his bony form collapsing in a heap.

It seemed a held breath was released from the entirety of the building as everyone gathered stared down upon the dead wizard.

Shouts rang out and people rushed Harry, throwing their arms around him in triumph.

This was it, James thought, finally. This was when he could at last let on that he was here. But he couldn't do it alone. He didn't know how. He needed backup. And proof.

He turned around, scanning the Hall for Remus as he made his way back to the bound Corban Yaxley.

"You're here!"

James turned toward the voice, seeing the witch from Gringotts. She was looking past the mud-streaked face, recognizing him by his eyes, and perhaps his beard and stature, he thought.

He chuckled, unable to help the sound as he nodded. "Told you I would be."

Hermione didn't know what overcame her as she moved toward him, slipping her arms around him in a hug. All right, so she supposed she was relieved that he'd survived. And clearly, he shared that relief at her survival, because he returned her embrace.

She leaned back from him. "God, you're a mess," she said with a laugh.

James snickered, nodding again. "So are you." He wasn't really thinking through the familiarity of the gesture as he stroked a finger along her cheek and held it up for her to see the collected soot. "You look like you got sneezed on by a dragon."

"Well, if you consider Fiendfyre an actual dragon, sure."

He laughed again. He seemed to do that a lot when she was near. "I think I'd have liked to have seen that. Go celebrate with Harry, I've something I _have_ to do."

He slipped out of her grasp and turned, clearly trying to find someone in the crowd. Hermione frowned as she watched him.

"Are you never going to tell me your name?" she asked in a disappointed whisper.


	6. Five: The Reunion

**Chapter Five**

The Reunion

"Next time someone's trying to hurl a mad death-spell at you, duck."

Remus lifted his gaze from his hands, staring in disbelief at the figure in the mirror, lingering in the restroom doorway. Oh, he looked like hell. Covered in all sorts of muck from the battle, as they all were. There was no way to be sure, at a glance, who that was, except for the voice. And the familiar, long-unseen hazel eyes locked on the reflection of his own.

"James?" the werewolf breathed the name, holding whatever his responding feelings were to the sight—to the possibility—at bay. They'd just defeated Voldemort. There was every chance this was some trick.

The wizard in the doorway held up his hands. "It's a long story. And I need your help to—"

James cut himself off as Remus whirled to face him, his wand out and his eyes flashing dangerously.

"I don't even want to_ think_ on how you got James Potter's hair, but whoever you are, you're about to be very, very sorry for crossing my path today of all days."

"Merlin's fucking beard, Moony, it's me!"

The use of the nickname gave Remus pause. James could see he was faltering already. He supposed, with everything that had gone on during this awful Second War, all surviving combatants were given to think _anything _was possible.

"Moony, it's me," James said again, his voice low and steady. "You know anyone else who'd knock your fool arse out of the way of his own death?"

Remus' features seemed to crumble a bit, his leaf-green eyes welling up. "But it can't be you."

"It is! I _promise_ you, i's me." James lowered his hands as he shook his head. "And I did, of course, save your scraggly werewolf arse." He spoke more cautiously, more gently as he went on, "I'm sorry I couldn't save 'Dora, too. By the time I realized, she was already on the ground."

His entire, lanky frame sagged instantly, his wand arm lowering to his side with a tremor. "Maybe I deserved it."

James was utterly bewildered at his words. Maybe . . . maybe Moony thought he was seeing a ghost? Or that his mind had broken? "Deserved what?"

A sad smile curved Remus' lips. "To lose her?" One single, traitorous tear broke free to roll down his cheek. "I'd already lost you and Lily, lost Sirius. Peter was gone from the moment he even thought of turning sides. I _dared_ to try to be happy after all that. I even fought against it. I pushed her away. If I hadn't, I might've had more time with her."

James closed his eyes, swallowing hard. Hadn't life shown them both, so long ago, that _every_ moment counted?

"But I thought it was wrong." Remus was going on, whether he was speaking to himself or to James was no longer clear. "I thought after . . . after Sirius, it was too soon. And then, I thought it was always going to feel like too soon, so maybe I should just let go of my grief and try . . . and look what my _selfish_ attempt to be happy wrought."

God. Over sixteen years and the werewolf still had such a knack for beating himself up.

"It wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it?!" Remus' voice came out sharp, his eyes once more flashing dangerously. "She came here because of me. If not for me, she might've been anywhere else than the one the receiving end of Bellatrix's curse at that moment."

"Moony! 'Dora was always a fighter, even as a little girl! Even if not coming here because of you, she'd have still been here in the thick of it, and you well know that! Still an equal chance she'd have survived or fallen. The only person responsible for that is—_was_—Bellatrix Lestrange."

Remus stared back in silence for a few painfully stretched heartbeats. "It is you. How? I don't understand. Dumbledore said—"

"Dumbledore said my body was destroyed because he had no idea what had happened to me. And if he didn't know how that was possible, then clearly it must've been a magic that was beyond him, yeah?"

His sandy brows drawing upward, Remus drew in a steadying breath. Yes, this anger was familiar. James had always shown loyalty to Dumbledore, but then he was also always the first one to raise questions when a request or order that didn't seem on the up-and-up was given.

"But then, maybe, it was simpler than that, yeah? Maybe—" James stooped, reaching down and behind him, around the open doorway to drag a bound, currently Silencio'ed—and notably displeased looking—Corban Yaxley into the room—"some slimy, underhanded little shit of a Death Eater plucked me from the scene and held me prisoner ever since."

Remus looked from Corban to James and back. A frown tugging at his lips, he raised his wand, tagging Yaxley with a stinging hex. There was something deeply gratifying about watching the Dark wizard squirm in silence.

"I can't believe . . . ." He approached James on cautious footfalls. Only when he was close enough did he reach out, clamping a tentative hand over his long-lost friend's shoulder. "I can't believe you're here. I can't . . . . Does Harry know?"

"Not yet. You and Severus—"

"Severus?!"

"That's another story. Short version? He sort of owes me his life."

"But Severus was—"

"He was a spy for Dumbledore all along! Yaxley suspected and he was a very chatty captor. You Know Who tried to dispatch him, and I think that's why—something must've finally happened that confirmed it." James scowled—this was not the time for sidetracking. "But you two are the only ones who know. Well, you two and this idiot. And . . . I did sort of meet a witch, but we never exchanged names."

Remus pressed a hand to his face as he muttered, "Did sort of meet a witch, of course you did."

His shoulders drooping, James rolled his eyes. It wasn't like that . . . well, it _sort _of was a little, though it had been pointed out to him on more than one occasion that he was charming, and had he not been so taken with Lily he might've been just as flirtatious with _everyone_ in his vicinity as Sirius. "Cut me a little slack, mate. Sixteen years is a _long_ time to be alone."

Remus hated that he understood how true that rang. "You need my help revealing who you are to Harry, and well, everyone?"

"Exactly. I don't know that I need you to actually say anything, but yeah. I need you there with me. I need him to believe me, and since you believe me—"

"Still not entirely sold on that."

James smirked. "Okay, who's the one who caught you and Sirius on the sofa in the common room that Halloween when you were—"

"Oi!" Holding up his hands, Remus met James' gaze with wide eyes. "All right, all right! Only you were there, after all . . . and only you would play dirty enough to use that against me."

Unable to help himself, James shrugged. "Pretty sure that's what he said."

Remus shook his head, breathing deep. This was _definitely_ James Potter before him. And laughter and lewd insinuations were exactly how Sirius would want to be remembered. Nearly before he realized he was moving, he threw his arms around his friend, hugging him tight.

James' eyes drifted closed for a moment as he returned the hug. He'd feared this meeting, feared that Moony, of all people, would doubt him.

"All right. But . . . ." Remus leaned back and gave James a head-to-toe once over. He looked like . . . well, _hell_. He looked like he'd been kept prisoner for sixteen years and then made to fight in the final, grueling battle of a war. "Come with me. Maybe let's get you cleaned up and into some fresh robes before we present you to your son—the savior of all Wizarding Britain—for the first time, hmm? We'll be quick about it. Ten minutes."

James frowned, even as he dragged Corban Yaxley along behind him to follow Remus. "Are you going to make me shave my beard?"

Remus couldn't help a chuckle at how disheartened he sounded. Clearly he'd grown accustomed to the beard. "We're at least giving it a trim. I mean, _Lord_. Just c'mon, will you?"

* * *

When Hermione, Harry, and Ron came back down the stairs from Harry deciding to return the Elder Wand to Dumbledore's grave, she was a little startled to realize she was scanning the crowd for her nameless wizard. Those gathered were celebrating their victory, even as they mourned their lost. It was a strange feeling, to be certain.

As she stepped back into the Great Hall, she was immediately swept aside by Fleur, Luna, and Ginny.

"What's going on?" she asked them with a hushed laugh.

The two younger witches looked to the Veela as they waited for her to explain. "It has been decided," she said, smiling even as tears over her lost brother-in-law still crowded her blue eyes, "we are going to have a party."

"A party?" Hermione echoed, arching a brow. "Are you sure that's really wise? I mean the timing—"

"Not just now. In a few days. Before the funerals for the fallen begin. It's in their honor. We want to do something to celebrate their lives."

Exhaling a short, shaky breath, Hermione felt her throat close for a moment. Yes. That made sense. Celebrate them before bidding them farewell. They needed this. They _all_ needed this.

"Actually, I think that might be a good idea."

Ginny beamed, despite that she, too, had tears in her eyes. "Mum's idea, actually. She was talking about Fred and . . . ." She paused, sniffling. "And how he'd be so upset to see everyone crying . . . and then she rethought it, figured he'd be delighted everyone missed him so much, but _after_ that, he'd want everyone laughing, everyone smiling and . . . ." Ginny swiped at her eyes and forced a gulp down her throat. "Remembering how much he loved a good laugh. Remembering _him,_ not his death."

Hermione had to blink hard to keep her own tears from falling. How Ginny was managing to say all this without breaking down was beyond her.

"You need me to convince Ron and Harry this is a good idea, don't you?"

The three witches exchanged a glance and nodded. Hermione immediately pointed at Luna. "You're going to help me with that."

Luna blinked those large, dreamy blue eyes of hers. "Me? Why d'you need me?"

"Because we're opposites, and if I can't find a way to talk them into it, maybe you can."

"Oh." Luna just about chirped the sound before she nodded. "That makes sense."

"Okay, I'll go get them and them come back and find you."

With a nod, Hermione started off after Harry and Ron, but then a dark figure shuffling in through the entryway of the Great Hall caught her attention. Turning her head, she saw Severus Snape sagging against the inside of the doorjamb.

"Oh my God!" She didn't know precisely what Harry had glimpsed in Snape's memories, but she knew that he hadn't truly betrayed them—the bits of discussion they overheard before Nagini had been given the kill command were evidence of that, she thought—and he certainly would not be turning up here were that true.

"Harry!" she called behind her while she hurried to the doorway.

"Oh," her former professor said as she pulled his arm around her shoulders to steady him, seeming in a bit of a daze from his injuries . . . and likely from dragging himself all the way from the Shrieking Shack. "Miss Granger. Did we win?"

Hermione had never heard the usually stern man sound so loopy—as if the scene of incapacitated Death Eaters wasn't enough to confirm that. "We did. How are you not dead?"

"Timely intervention. Not sure I'm allowed to say by who, yet."

She turned her head, watching the man's face as she helped him toward one of the tables Professor McGonagall'd had brought back into the Great Hall. Harry had wasted no time, apparently explaining whatever Hermione had missed to Ron as they rushed over.

It seemed everything wanted to happen at once. Harry sat down on Snape's other side as he waved to get Madame Pomfrey's attention, Luna remembered then that she was supposed to assist Hermione, and when Hermione hadn't come to find her instead came running over to them. Luna, who stumbled in shock when she saw the once-headmaster—or, more specifically, when she saw Harry's open concern for the Slytherin wizard when last she knew he'd been a Death Eater—and bowled over poor Ron. Knocking the shocked ginger-haired wizard onto the bench, she fell square across his lap.

WhileLuna held out her hands, looking about wide-eyed and trying to get her bearings, which left Ron looking about as well, because clearly the barmy witch had forgotten she seemed to be using him as a chair, Remus had walked up to the group.

The werewolf nodded, smiling sadly as they all offered him their words of condolence.

"What're we all sorry for?" Severus asked, squinting as he attempted to make sense of what he was hearing.

Sooner than Remus could get agitated Hermione leaned over, murmuring in Snape's ear about poor, fallen Nymphodora Tonks.

As she sat back, Severus Snape only stared at her a moment, nearly as though he didn't recognize her, before he returned his attention to Remus. "You have my sympathies," he said softly, his voice shockingly sincere.

Remus simply stood there, in apparent shock at Severus Snape sharing a genuine emotion with anyone. Yes, James had wanted to come straight over on his own—especially now that he looked a bit more like himself—but Remus had thought it best he ease Harry into the notion of his dead father being, well, not_ quite_ as dead as they'd all thought.

Giving himself a shake, he moved directly in front of Harry and lowered himself to kneel. "Harry, I have something I have to tell you, and I need you to listen very carefully. I also need you not to overreact."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a wary glance around Severus' drooping dark head. "Go on."

Remus nodded. "Dumbledore . . . all those years ago, he made a mistake."

"If you're about to tell us the prophecy was never about me, I think we're all a bit late for that."

When Remus did not so much as crack a half-grin at the quip, Harry's expression sobered instantly.

"No. About the night your parents died. James . . . your father . . . he wasn't killed that night."

Everyone's breath seemed to catch in their throats at that moment. Everyone aside from Snape, who merely shrugged, pursing his lips as he wondered what the hell was taking Poppy so long.

Harry forced his vocal cords to work. "My father's alive? How?"

"Apparently Corban Yaxley slipped into the house after Snape, but before Dumbledore arrived, noticed You Know Who hadn't been quite so thorough as he thought in dispatching James and . . . took him prisoner." Remus clapped a hand around Harry's arm. "I know it seems like a lot to take in—"

"How long have you known about this?"

"I only just found out perhaps twenty minutes ago," Remus said, his eyes pleading for Harry's understanding.

Severus seemed far less aware of any need for comprehension as he shrugged again. "About two hours, me. Wait . . . how long ago'd you find me?"

"Harry's father?" Hermione said, staring at Snape's profile in astonishment. "He's the one with the timely intervention you talked about?"

"That's why you're 'the smart one,' Miss Granger."

"Anyway, Harry . . . ." Remus glanced back toward the Great Hall doors. "He's here. We just explained the entire mess to Kingsley and Minerva and turned over Yaxley."

Harry sat very straight for a heartbeat or two. He was acutely aware of his breath moving into his lungs and back out again as he let the news rattle around in his head. It didn't seem real.

"My father's alive," he said, repeating his realization from a moment ago in a dazed whisper. Collecting himself, he met Remus' gaze. "Bring—bring him in!"

Relief flooding his features, the werewolf pushed up to stand and returned out through the doors. A moment later, he reappeared with a dark-haired wizard in tow. They approached the table, James' gaze fixed unfalteringly on his son for a few heartbeats, he couldn't see anyone else sitting there.

"Harry," Remus said, his voice soft as the younger Potter got to his feet. "This is your father, James."

Harry seemed not to know what to do with himself at first. He stepped closer, staring up into the man's face. Noting the hazel eyes, the features he recalled from his photographs, though showing the passage of these last sixteen years a little. The neatly trimmed bit of facial hair threw him somewhat, as did that he wasn't wearing the glasses Harry saw in some of those images.

"It's really you."

James waited, nervous to be the one to act first. Part of him had dreaded that Harry would hate him, that he'd somehow blame him for the circumstances that had befallen him—that had kept them apart. But then Harry threw his arms around his father, dropping his head down against the man's shoulder as he let out a horribly mangled sound that was some pained blend of relief and joy.

Luna and Ron were observing the scene in utter, speechless surprise. Hermione was _so_ happy for Harry it made her heart ache! And yet . . . as James Potter opened his eyes and looked about at them over the top of his son's head, she knew she recognized him. His beard was far shorter and neater, he was in clean robes, in fact he looked as though he'd just stepped fresh from a shower—she nearly had to slap herself to keep her mind from wandering off on _that_ observation—but it was those eyes she recognized as they met hers.

It was the smile that curved those lips.

This man, her mystery wizard, was Harry's_ dad?_ Oh, Lord. And she'd kissed him! What on earth? How could she ever face any of them?

"Okay," Harry said, breathless with excitement as he turned to introduce his father to the two people who were so important to him. "Dad"—oh, he was beside himself he was so thrilled that he could actually say that— "these are my two best friends in the world, Ron Weasley and—"

Hermione tore her gaze from James' as she abruptly stood from the bench. "I'm sorry, Harry. I just—I just remembered there's something I have to do."

She stepped around them, giving them a wide berth, and ran full tilt out the doors.

"And Hermione Granger," Harry said, confusion in his face as his shoulders slumped.

Luna tipped her head around, looking toward the doors. "I wouldn't mind her. Seeing you with your father probably reminded her of her own parents."

"Of course," Harry said with a shake of his head, oblivious to the way his father's gaze stayed glued to the spot from which she'd vanished on the bench.

"Best friends," James echoed in a low, dull voice, nodding.

Ron cleared his throat, drawing Luna's attention to him.

"Hmm?"

"You're still sitting on me," he said wincing, as though reminding her was rude.

"Oh, sorry." She, however, made no move to get off of him. "You're actually quite comfortable."

Ron looked about as if for assistance, to which Harry could only shrug. "Oh, um, thanks then?"

"Harry," Remus said in a gentle voice. He didn't want to recognize the look on James' face anymore than he wanted to think he understood the reason for Hermione's hasty departure. "Can I borrow your dad _just_ for a second?"

James desperately wanted Harry to say no, but another verbal acknowledgement that his father had miraculously returned to him had the young man beaming and nodding.

"Sure."

James and Remus shared an awkward laugh as Remus pulled his friend aside. Taking a few steps, just far enough away that he could whisper without being overhead, Remus asked, "Hermione's 'that one witch,' isn't she?"

"Uh-huh."

"Dammit, Prongs!"

James glanced back over his shoulder at his son before answering, his voice equally hushed. "I had no idea who she was! I just thought she was a member of the Order helping Harry."

"Well, yes, that's true, but there's so much more to it than that. You couldn't tell she's only eighteen years old?"

"I don't know what you're thinking, but I helped her. Got her out of Gringotts and then she helped me get to Hogsmeade."

Remus didn't buy it. That didn't seem like something that would send typically level-headed Hermione Granger fleeing a room. "And?"

"Merlin's arse, Moony!" James huffed with an irritated sigh. "Yeah, okay? We kissed _once_, but that was all. Point of fact, she kissed me. And I don't think I should have to mention the obvious, but she's _hardly_ a child."

Much to his chagrin, Remus found himself nodding in agreement. "Hardly the point though, is it?" he said, covering his own, momentary, wayward thought.

"No, it's not. But . . . it won't happen again. We know each other's identities now, we can move past some little moment that was probably a mistake."

Remus narrowed his eyes. "Probably?" he echoed.

James' shoulders slumped. "She was the first person I'd met after being imprisoned alone all that time, and that witch is sort of amazing. She was like a breath of fresh air after starting to suffocate. I can't say it was right, but I also won't say I would've stopped her if I could go back and change things."

Scowling, Remus could only shake his head. He had no idea what any of this was like for James. But he also felt the need to protect Harry's feelings . . . and Hermione's. Also, though, he could hardly expect them _not_ to cross paths, given how important they both were in Harry's life.

"Promise me you'll try not to let that get any further."

James nodded, frowning. "I promise." Even as he said it though, even as he went back to rejoin his son—Severus batted at Poppy Pomfrey's hands while she tried to examine him and Ron Weasley finally gave up on trying to convince the blonde witch on his lap to move—he felt that tingling across his lips as he recalled the kiss he'd shared with his son's best friend.

Oh, he was going to Hell.


	7. Six: The Memorial Ball

**Chapter Six**

The Memorial Ball

Hermione had zipped past everyone in the main corridor. Uncertain where to even go—to collect herself, to catch her breath, to simply put some bloody distance between her and _that man_—she found she was making her way to the covered bridge.

So much had happened over the last few days alone, and now _this_?

She hurried along, not slowing a single step until she reached her destination. Once there, Hermione braced her hands against the stone ledge, pitching herself over the side from the waist up.

Her eyes shut tight, she breathed in deep through her nostrils. The air was cleaner here, and perhaps the peculiar position had a head-clearing effect, because as she hung there, suspended halfway over the bridge wall, it occurred to her that the situation might not be as awful as it seemed.

Clearly _she_ wasn't about to tell anyone about their . . . stupid little kiss, and James . . . _Mr. Potter _was only just arrived back into his son's life. And he was obviously sharp enough to be aware that if _he_ mentioned their previous encounter, he might wreck his relationship with Harry before it even had the chance to form.

God, though, could she really get away with calling him Mr. Potter when she'd not once called Sirius Mr. Black, nor had she referred to Remus as anything other than Remus since he'd left his post as the DADA professor? There was no _Mr. Lupin_ that ever fell from her lips, it was Professor Lupin and then it was Remus. Would an insistence on calling James by his surname be an obvious attempt to put distance between them?

And dear Lord, why couldn't she stop the butterflies in her stomach when she recalled the mischievous glint in those hazel eyes when he'd stroked his finger along her cheek while they'd held each other after Voldemort's fall?

She let out a bellowing growl of irritation at herself for being so conflicted. There should be no conflict, should there? She didn't even know the man, so pretending like some silly little kiss had never happened should be no trouble at all.

And yet, even as she dangled there, aware how much sense she was making—logically—she could not help but feel that this was perhaps a thing which defied logic.

Another sound of irritation erupted from her and in the next moment she realized . . . her strange position plus the sounds of obvious, angsty discomfort and duress she was unleashing presented quite an upsetting picture to anyone who might happen across her right now . . . .

As so evidenced by the way Remus' voice burst out in concern from behind her, calling her name as he latched his arms around her and pried her from the ledge.

The werewolf tumbled backward with the very surprised witch clutched against him.

"Remus," she started, breathless when they stopped and she found herself staring up at the covered bridge's cobwebbed ceiling, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath her back. "What the hell was that?"

He turned his head, the gritty stone floor tugging at his scalp and hair a bit as he stared at her. "You looked like you were in trouble!"

"Well I wasn't!"

"Well I'm beginning to piece that together for myself now!" He shook his head. "What the hell were you doing?"

Hermione thought about sitting up where she was, but immediately stopped when she considered what the_ image_ of that action would look like. Given how her mind was already in a bit of an uproar over inappropriate entanglements, she thought the last thing she needed would be to pull herself into a position that would have her bum pressed firmly over the lap of a man who'd become a widower within the last twenty-four hours.

Clearing her throat—and hoping that Remus' refusal to embrace his inner beast meant he did not have the sharp sense of smell that Greyback had proven himself to, and thus could_ not_ detect that she'd had even a flickering of a wayward thought just then—she said, "I'm going to roll off of you now."

"Hmm? Oh, right. Of course." He'd not realized he still had his arms locked around her in that protective hold until now.

Once he opened his arms, she rather gracelessly toppled off of him.

Not ready to get up entirely just yet, she sat and clasped her hands around her bent knees. Remus pulled himself up, mirroring her position.

"What were you doing?" he asked again, adopting his trusty old 'patient professor' tone.

"Honestly? I was simply trying to clear my head."

Remus nodded, proceeding with caution in his voice. "Because of what happened between you and James?"

Wide chestnut eyes shot up to lock on his. "He told you?"

"Not exactly."

She made a face at him.

Holding up a placating hand, he explained, "I guessed. I know you and I know him. I saw your reactions when Harry tried to introduce you. So, I pulled James aside and made him tell me."

The witch chewed nervously at the inside of her lower lip. "D' you think anyone else caught on?"

Remus' shoulders drooped as he shook his head. "No. Neither of you are going to say anything about it to anyone, and it's certainly not my place to say anything, either."

She only looked at him for a moment, finding nothing but kindness in those familiar green eyes. There'd always been a sense of kinship between her and the werewolf.

"We're a bit alike, aren't we?" she asked abruptly, a thought that returned to the forefront of her mind every now and again making itself known once more.

Those eyes narrowed pensively, but she got the impression he was deliberately avoiding understanding what she meant. "How so?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but then shut it again, shaking her head. "Never mind. It's not important."

Remus nodded, climbing to his feet and offering a hand to help her up. It was really best not to broach what she was getting at, even if she did suspect. She'd probably had her fill of surprising revelations today.

"Everything will be fine, Hermione."

She slid her fingers into his and let him pull her to stand. As they turned to start back toward the castle's main building, she clung to his hand. Yes, she always had found his presence comforting. That should've been her first clue; after all, he was a bloody werewolf, to find_ his_ closeness soothing should've been troublesome at the very least.

"Tonks was a lucky woman."

They both stopped short and once more those wide chestnut eyes had snapped up to lock on his. Clearly the words had fallen from her lips without a thought behind them.

Immediately her face crumbled and she choked out a sound of shock at herself. "Oh my _God_, Remus, I'm sorry! I didn't . . . I only meant—"

"It's all right," he said, nodding, that sad grin curving his lips. He tugged on her hand to start them walking again. "And thank you. I suppose it's a relief that someone thinks so. I always worried over how _un_fortunate she was, to fall in love with someone like me."

Her brows pinched together in a sorrowful look. "You mean because you're a werewolf, or because you've become a bit of a bitter recluse in you 'old age'?"

"_Oi_," he responded, chuckling. "Says the witch who's apparently making a habit of running around kissing 'old' men?"

Hermione's jaw fell even as she couldn't help sputtering a laugh. "You said you wouldn't say anything about that!"

Remus gestured about with his free hand. "We're not back, yet. I was sure we weren't anywhere we'd be overheard."

She took a moment to glance about. They were still a few meters from the entryway into the castle and everyone else seemed to be inside. "Oh. Still . . . ." she managed, feeling her cheeks flare.

"I meant because I'm a werewolf. And a little because my condition has made me bitter toward the world."

"But you're not_ just_ a werewolf. You're so much more!" She shrugged, a thoughtful little pout curving her lips as they moved through the entryway. "And if someone can't see past that wolf to appreciate the man, then maybe _they _don't deserve to know_ you_ at all."

It took effort to keep walking as her words tumbled about in his head. _That witch is sort of amazing_, James' statement echoed in his ears a moment. Oh, Remus had already known that, but it nagged at him a little how true that was ringing at this very second.

He forced a smile, nodding. "Thank you," he said again.

James looked toward the doors just in time to see Hermione and Remus reenter the Great Hall. And they were holding hands and laughing.

What the_ hell_ was that about?

But then he looked over at Harry and Ron. They didn't appear to bat an eye at this . . . unsettling spectacle as the pair came back to the table. In fact, even Remus and Hermione, themselves, didn't notice this was perhaps overly-friendly seeming behavior until they saw _him_.

He wasn't sure if it was his raised brows, his pursed lips, or the way he raised his hands in a silent question, but the pair finally noticed him and froze. Both clearly aware he was reading more into their demeanor than was actually there, the smiles melted from their faces and they pulled their hands part.

_He_ was supposed to try not to let anything happen with her, but sure, Moony could paw at the woman? Unbelievable.

Harry looked up just then, noticing Hermione and Remus were back. "Oh, Hermione! Everything okay?"

"Hmm, oh, yes!" She was suddenly regretful that it hadn't occurred to her that her quick departure made Harry worry. "Sorry, just needed to clear my head. I'm so happy you've your dad back, Harry!"

Grinning widely, he climbed to his feet and pulled her in for a hug. After only a moment, he pulled back from her and turned toward James. "Hermione Granger, this is my father!"

Harry positively beamed, unnoticing of how their smiles were a bit strained as she offered her hand for James to shake in greeting. "Dad, this is my best friend in the world—"

"Oi!" Ron said, giving up entirely on the Luna situation at this point, he was resting his chin on her shoulder, his arms linked loosely around her.

Hermione looked over at the pair while Harry made a placating gesture. Ron noticed Hermione's attention and shrugged, angling the top of his head to indicate Luna. Strange how she'd have thought it would sting so bad to see him cuddly with someone after the whole Lavender Brown mess, but this was . . . strangely a cute picture Ron and Luna presented. Unexpected, but cute.

"My_ other_ best friend in the world," Harry amended, "Hermione Granger. She's brilliant, Dad. Couldn't have won the War without her, honest!"

Hermione was grateful that the praise allowed her to keep her attention from James. She feared too long of staring up into his hazel eyes would have her blushing as she again recalled the feel of his lips brushing hers.

"Harry," she said, in a low, cooing tone.

He smiled. "It's true, and you're shit at being modest, so don't even try."

James was shooting Remus a questioning look, to which Remus was shrugging in answer, holding up his hands. "She's my friend," he mouthed the words.

Severus who had remained silent all this time looked back and forth between the reunited friends. His wounds tended, but his mind still swimming a bit from the mix of pain relieving potion and exhaustion, he started snickering as he shook his head.

"Oh, you two," he said, even in his current state, he couldn't help but note the spike in tension when Potter had seen Wolfy McWolf walk in holding Miss Granger's hand. "This is going to be amusing."

James and Remus both turned soured expressions on Severus.

"Is it possible I liked him better when we thought he was a terrible person?"

Remus exhaled through his nostrils, folding his arms across his chest. He shook his head, unsure how to answer that, because he was suddenly certain he was asking himself the same question.

* * *

Hermione stood outside the doors of the Great Hall staring at them. She already knew she was late, perhaps even pushing the boundary of 'fashionably', but she just . . . felt odd. Three days prior, when she'd decided she was finally going to go home and shower, get a good night's sleep before she had to report to Kingsley's office in the morning to start the ball rolling on getting her parents back—though any _actual _work on that would have to wait until after the funerals and rooting out of any suspect parties who still might lurk within the Ministry or any of its annexes, which meant waiting who knew how long before she could be reunited with her parents—she was aware of some interaction between James, Remus, and Severus Snape, of all people, that somehow involved her.

Oh, sure, she could be completely off on that, she could be imagining things, her mind working up worst case scenarios based on how awful she already felt about this thing that had happened with James, but there was something in the way Severus Snape's dark eyes had flicked over to land on her for a moment as he laughed at something to do with James and Remus.

Squaring her shoulders, she held her head high and started toward the doors, aware that if she did not get in there soon, Harry might send a search party.

Everyone had thrown themselves into the idea of this gathering. They_ all_ needed it, to focus their energy on something happy among all the misery and loss they'd experienced. Gladrags Wizardwear's proprietor, in particular, was pleased by the decision, seeing so many people flocking to their shop for new dress robes in the wake of such harsh times. Hermione, for her part, had walked out with a lovely silk garment that was a soft, powdery purple shade. And she'd even allowed Ginny to talk her into taking another dip into Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, so her typically wild and bushy golden-brown hair hung over her shoulders and down her back in smooth, graceful curls.

What gave her doubts was that she knew James Potter was somewhere in there. Would he think this was for him? Because this was no more for him than that periwinkle dress had been 'for Viktor' at the Yule Ball. No, that had been a night for her to feel beautiful, to feel 'not Hermione Granger' as the entirety of the school had come to expect of her.

No, no. He wouldn't think that, because he knew nothing more could come of the moments they'd shared before they knew who each other were, just as she did.

_Oh._ Her footfalls stumbled a bit in her satin heels that matched her robes as she cringed. Worse than the_ slim_ possibility of James wondering if she was looking pretty on account of knowing he was there, what if Remus thought she was looking pretty for James?

Her shoulders slumped as she shook her head, growling at herself under her breath. Since when had she become so very concerned with what other people thought? Everyone else was dressed up for this, so why shouldn't_ she_ be!

As she crossed the threshold, she was immediately stalled in her tracks again. The Great Hall was _breathtaking_.

After so much terror and destruction only a few days ago, so many of Wizarding Britain's surviving citizens had come together, pooling their magic to undo the damage to the ancient castle and restore its aged splendor. The enchanted ceiling was a field of night sky, so many stars twinkling overhead, it looked like diamonds scattered across blue-black velvet. Against that backdrop, silent fireworks burst and glittered, forming into gorgeous plumes before fading away. Along the walls hung framed portraits of the fallen, and a banner emblazoned brightly and boldly with their names had been raised over the dais at the front of the Hall.

She couldn't take another step. Her lips folding inward, she found her vision blurred by sudden unshed tears. She nearly couldn't breathe. It was so beautiful, which only made everything so much sadder.

As she lowered her head, giving it a shake, she caught Harry's gaze in the distance. He was standing with Ginny, Ron, and Luna. He waved her over, to which she offered a smile and a nod. Only . . . she needed a minute. She gestured back toward the doors behind her and mouthed _Bathroom_.

Harry nodded, but Ron looked over at her just then. He gestured toward Luna and shrugged, his expression somewhere between pained and apologetic.

Hermione understood then. He wasn't simply standing beside Luna, he'd come to the ball _with_ Luna. She only smirked, nodding and offering him a dismissive wave. Oh, sure, it stung a little, but . . . if the past few years had proven anything, the timing was simply never going to be right for them. If she'd really felt as deeply for him as she'd thought, a quick kiss with a stranger shouldn't have been a deterrent in that moment during the final battle.

But it was.

She was just glad Ron understood, too, that things had passed them by, and that that was all right. Mostly, though, she was just glad his apparent comprehension spared her yet another awkward conversation.

Not bothering to look for James or Remus, or anyone from the bloody Marauders' school years, she turned on her heel and went back out the doors.

True to her word, she started toward the girls' room. She wanted to be alone, she wanted to take a few minutes to break down, to let the feelings that had crowded her heart just now in the Great Hall wash over her. After all, she hadn't lost a son or a brother. She hadn't lost a best friend, or a spouse, or a lover.

She'd lost people she cared for deeply, of course, but . . . . But it almost felt wrong to hurt, it felt wrong of her to presume her pain should have a place among theirs.

Her gaze fixed on the bathroom door, she realized there was another place that would offer her more comfort. Another place where it was more likely she'd not run into anyone tonight of all nights.

Once more turning away, she started for the library.

* * *

"Where is your dear friend?"

Remus paused in his reach for a particularly chocolately-looking biscuit on one of the porcelain trays. His shoulder sloping in disappointment, he turned to meet Severus' gaze. "I'm not his keeper, Severus."

Severus ignored Remus' exhausted tone—after all, Remus Lupin always sounded at least a little exhausted—and glanced toward the doors. If he did say so himself, Miss Granger made quite the lovely vision tonight. Of course, he'd never_ ever_ say those words. Ever. "So, you've no idea where he slipped off to?"

"God, man! What do you care? He got a clean bill of health from St. Mungo's and after everything he's been through, the one request he had was to have some time to without me chasing after him like some ruddy nursemaid to reacquaint himself with the castle. He's bothering the elves in the kitchens for all I know."

"Mm-hmm."

"Why on earth—?" Remus' words slid off as he turned and saw Hermione in the doorway. She was having some silent exchange with Harry. He ignored the notice of how nice she looked, but could not ignore that she was backing out of the doors.

"Shouldn't you hurry along if you want to keep those two from stumbling over each other?"

The werewolf's eyes shot wide as he snapped his head around to glare at Severus. "What?"

Severus only shrugged, folding his arms across his chest.

"How did you . . . ?" Remus scowled. "They wouldn't have told you. Neither of them."

"Oh, they didn't tell me anything. But you just did."

Remus' expression only further devolved into a look of anger.

With a sigh, Severus waved dismissively. "I've stood up to you on a full moon, you're not going to scare me now. And really? It was all in their behavior when they saw one another after the battle was won. It was clear something happened between them, and your behavior now only cements that notion."

"Nothing's going to happen," Remus said with a tone of finality edging his voice, at last reaching and plucking up that biscuit as though there was some triumph to the gesture.

"Of course not." Severus shook his head, shrugging once more. "It's a big castle, after all. I'm sure they won't even cross paths."

Remus turned his head, fixing the dark-haired wizard with a death glare even as he argued with himself over whether to stay put, or whether to go search for James.

"So you're staying right here? Is that because you trust nothing will happen, or because you want me to think you trust nothing will happen?"

Slapping a hand against his face, Remus groaned. "Why do you even care?"

Severus shrugged, staring off at nothing in particular, it seemed. He was right this was amusing. "Now whoever said I did?"

* * *

The library looked, and felt, and smelled just as she remembered. She closed the doors behind her and walked to the center of the room, simply breathing in the familiar scent of books and time and learning.

Sinking back to lean against the nearest table, she buried her face in her hands and let the tears come.

"Hello?"

Sniffling, she raised her head. Hermione cursed that she recognized that voice. "Of course, you'd be here. It's just my luck."

James frowned, refusing to move any closer to her. The more distance between them, the less likelihood anything could happen.

He stayed by the shelves, peering out at her. "Sorry. I can go."

She shook her head, swallowing hard as she waved at him. "No. No, it's fine. You were here first. I'll go."

The sound of her speaking around tears was awful and he found himself inching toward her seemingly without his volition. "Is it bad down there?"

"No," she said with a shrug. "It's actually beautiful. Everyone's enjoying it. That's what's making it difficult. I just had to get out for a moment, that's all. I feel sort of like an impostor down there. At least I did when I felt like I was going to start bawling, anyway."

Shoulders slumping, he drew only a little nearer, stopping to lean against a different table facing her. "Why would you feel that way?"

The witch shrugged, explaining to him the thoughts that went through her head as she'd stood down there inside the Great Hall doors. Fussing with her beaded bag—which she'd charmed especially for tonight to match her dress and shoes—she withdrew some tissue and blotted under her eyelashes.

"You have every right to feel however you feel, Hermione," he said, frowning.

She sniffled again, meeting his gaze. "Doesn't seem like it."

James sighed, bracing the heels of his palms on the table at his back. "Just because someone has more connection to the loss doesn't make your pain less valid. That's like when a relative passes away. No one says to you 'how dare you be crying? You weren't as close to them as I was!' You mourn _together_. You miss them, you are hurting over their loss, too. And there's not a single person in the whole of this castle tonight who wouldn't understand that."

Hermione nodded. She inhaled a deep, steadying breath.

A moment of quiet wrapped the room—any other time she'd think that wildly appropriate, given the room they were in, but just now, it made her more aware that she was alone with him.

"You must've thought me so stupid," she said, laughing at herself as she sniffled a third time.

"What are you talking about? When?"

She let her hands fall to her sides as she glared at him like she just might be the one who thought _he _was stupid. "When we first met. 'Oh, you're working undercover, aren't you?' _God_, I must've sounded like such a little idiot!"

James laughed. "No, no. Actually, I thought it was quiet a clever assumption."

"Oh, shut up."

"No, it's true, I did."

"You're lying."

Hazel eyes widening, he pressed a hand over his heart. "I'm not, I promise!"

After a moment, her lips pursed in thought, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Really?"

"Really."

"Although," he started, wincing.

She held her breath as she waited, barely managing to squeak out an, "Although?" of her own.

"The incident _did _make me glad I excel at casting cleaning charms. I mean, can you imagine what I'd have smelled like otherwise?"

Hermione burst out laughing. James grinned, laughing a little himself as he watched her. She pressed a palm against her belly as she went on, needing the release that came with her boisterous outburst.

"Actually, it did cross my mind that you didn't smell like you looked like you should."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, you! You're terrible."

She threw back her head, going on even as she was still giggling, "I thought, I thought you were masquerading as some homeless wizard in Knockturn Alley."

"_Oh!" _He bellowed, laughing. "I've seen those people. That's just_ mean_ of you!"

The doors burst open then and they both turned startled gazes on the entryway. Their reflexes saw to Hermione drawing her wand as James held up his right hand, palm out—the Ministry was itching to let some of their Medi-witches study him to figure out how he'd gotten wandless magic down to a science.

Remus stood there, his gaze snapping from one of them to the other. He'd heard voices and laughter from behind these doors and he dreaded what might be going on in here.

But they were easily two meters from each other and, well, other than Hermione's teary-eyed face, they looked perfectly collected.

"Good Lord! You scared the life out of me! What did you think was happening in here, Remus?" she asked in a hissing breath as she lowered her wand.

"I think it's obvious what he thought was happening in here."

Remus frowned. He'd keep to himself what Severus suspected. No need to draw more attention to matters they were trying to avoid.

But his attention still snagged on those teary eyes. "Hermione, are you okay?"

She sniffled, nodding even as he closed the distance to cup her face in his hands. "Yeah, I just . . . didn't want anyone to see me like this," she said, nodding as he tipped her head back to meet her gaze.

He nodded, pulling her in for a hug. "It's all right. Everyone down there's been a mess at their own time. It's healthy, and everyone is here for you, just like you're here for them, yeah?" He met James' gaze over the top of her head and nodded back toward the doors. "C'mon. Let's head back to the Great Hall."

Hermione nodded, hating how much comfort she found in the gesture as Remus turned around, holding her tucked against his side.

She also couldn't help but note that he had made sure to place himself between her and James.


	8. Seven: The Funeral of Nymphodora Tonks

Wow. Okay, you guys are being so awesome about this. I announced the possibility of this becoming a poly or triad fic as it progresses even though that wasn't the original plan, because I've seen in the past some readers get salty when an unexpected element is introduced into a fic where they were expecting 'this pairing only!' So, you can imagine how nervous I was in letting you guys know the pairing might not go as planned.

Thank you for taking that weight off my shoulders. ***hugs***

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

The Funeral of Nymphodora Tonks

"Why don't you come back to Grimmauld Place with us?"

Hermione's brows shot up as she turned to look at Harry. They were all heading home from Hogwarts and Harry had suddenly seemed to decide he didn't like the idea of the witch going to a big, empty house by herself.

"Um," she started, aware that behind Harry, Remus had gone wide-eyed and James was pressing his fingertips against his closed eyelids as he winced. "No. You're still getting used to having your dad back in your life, you two need the time together. I wouldn't feel right intruding."

Harry frowned, making Hermione feel terrible all over again. She knew he could sense that there was some distance between them that hadn't been there before, but she wasn't sure what else to do. At the moment, it was expected that James would be wherever Harry was while they carefully pieced together their relationship from scratch, and she felt like perhaps she and James—and by extension Remus, for some reason—could move past the tension between them if they could get a break from being around one another.

She also wasn't a huge fan of the idea of staying under the same roof as James Potter just now. He looked particularly dashing in his dress robes and her mind was wandering down paths it shouldn't.

Especially with the way he'd opened his collar a bit and she could see the lines of his neck dipping down beneath the fabric and how a bit of dark hair peeked out from right below his clavicle when he turned his head just so. At first glimpse, her stupid wayward thoughts had conjured up an image of what it might be like to trail her lips down the side of his throat as she tugged his robes open a little further down . . . .

She'd given herself a hard shake and hurried outside, swearing the sudden color in her cheeks was on account of the pixie-draught wine and she'd just needed some air. And seeing as the simple observation that he'd loosened his collar had escalated so quickly, she was given to think that perhaps imbibing alcohol_ did_ have something to do with it.

But again, that left poor Harry not having a clue why she was being distant.

Laughing sadly, she slipped her arms around her best friend in a tight, suffocating, Hermione-hug, just as he'd become accustomed to receiving from her. He relaxed easily in her embrace, hugging her back. "I'm sorry, Harry. I_ know_ I'm always welcome in your home, but after spending the better part of a _school year_ sharing a stinky tent with you and Ronald, I'm starting to enjoy having some time and space to myself."

Harry's lips pursed in thought as he looked off for a moment. "Yeah. I do believe I've since picked up a permanent phobia of tents, now that you mention it."

Again she laughed, leaning back enough to look at him. "So, we're okay?"

"O' course we are."

After bidding her farewells—which included hugging Remus, an awkward hug with James, because Harry clearly expected them to have no reason to feel any sort of tension around one another, and, of all things, a wave and nod to Snape, who'd been oddly amicable, if barbed, tonight—she'd made her way to the boundary of Hogwarts and Disapparated.

Appearing in the living room of her parents' house, she immediately clapped her hands over her cheeks after getting her bearings.

"Oh my God," she said in a whisper, shaking her head. If it had been just a stupid little kiss they'd shared, this would be so much simpler, but now she knew there was a _genuine_ attraction there.

"It'll be okay, Hermione."

She was, of course, not going to let anything happen, and James' refusal to get too near her when they'd been alone in the library had shown that he wasn't going to, either. He was a grown man and she'd always been mature and level-headed for her age, they could certainly manage to not let themselves do anything stupid.

But then the very fact that he'd remained so cognizant of a need to keep his distance from her showed that she wasn't the only one having such trouble with the other's nearness.

Rather against her will, her mind once more whispered that maybe some things defied logical reasoning. Logically they should have no issue avoiding any problematic behaviors, even if their relationships with Harry forced them to be in close quarters.

_Logically._

Shaking her head, she kicked off her shoes and started toward the bathroom for a nice, chilly shower.

* * *

The funerals for the fallen were brutal. There was no other way for her to think of them. The sobbing, the tear-choked eulogies, there wasn't a dry eye in the church or cemetery a single day. In a move that was meant to give each fallen war hero their proper due, a Ministry that was still in the first, struggling stages of renewing itself had decided each person who'd passed would get their own day for grieving. As far as honoring the dead went, it made sense, and since stasis charms were in no short supply, it was manageable . . . as far as logistics and preservation went.

As far as the toll that took on the hearts of the grieving, however, it felt more like a marathon of misery before they even got to Tonks' funeral.

The one bright spot was that Hermione finally got to meet little Teddy Lupin. An adorable, pudgy little thing with his father's green eyes and his mother's nose . . . as well as her knack for wild, ever-changing hair colors. Of course, a funeral was hardly an appropriate place for an infant, but both Andromeda and Remus had equal right to be there, and anyone who might've babysat was also in attendance.

Hermione wasn't quite sure how, but she'd ended up seated between Harry and Remus, James was on Remus' other side, and Andromeda was beside him, all squished into the front row of the small church in Godric's Hollow. She hadn't felt right about that, but it had been insisted that she was family.

Teddy had slept most of the event as it was, but as they gathered in the churchyard to watch the casket being lowered, he awoke.

Remus' eyes were full of tears he refused to shed as he looked from the gleaming wood surface disappearing into the ground to his son's squishy little face. Hermione could tell what was going through the werewolf's mind just then—the heartbreaking notion that somehow, little Teddy had sensed the very real idea behind this symbolic act of his mum's casket being set into the ground.

That his mother was _gone._

Remus' lower lip trembled as he sucked in a breath, trying to comfort his son as his tears started to fall. "I . . . I can't . . . ."

Hermione and James seemed to move as one from either side of him. "Here," the witch said, smiling gently amid her own tears as she reached out to take Teddy while James clamped a supportive arm around his friend's shoulders. "Let me. It's okay, Remus."

Nodding, he settled his son in her arms and let his face fall into his hands. Andromeda, over on James' other side was just as much of a mess, and Harry shot up from his chair to hurry over to her side and comfort her.

Hermione felt strangely like she knew what was going on as she looked over for a moment, catching James' gaze with her own. He knew, too. This was why Remus had been so focused on _them_, and on the recovery efforts of Wizarding Britain. As long as he had something else, something outside of himself to concentrate on, he hadn't had to confront his loss.

She'd never had much experience with babies and so she did what she'd observed Andromeda doing in the church earlier. Rocking slowly back and forth, she delicately patted his little, diapered bum in a gentle rhythm.

Those already leaf-green eyes locked on her face as he gurgled a cooing sound, as though he found her the most fascinating thing in the world—given that he was a baby who only ever saw the same faces and her face was _new_, she imagined she probably was.

She cooed back at him and his shock of turquoise hair flashed bright purple as he unleashed a loud giggle.

Hermione winced, looking about. She and little Teddy Lupin now had everyone's attention fixed on them.

It started with Andromeda. Sitting there with Harry, and now Ginny, crowded around her, Teddy's grandmother sniffled and let out a laugh at the happy sound.

That laugh seemed to reach out to the other mourners, seeping into them and bringing smiles to their watery-eyed faces. It seemed barely a few heartbeats passed before everyone was laughing through their tears.

Hermione turned to look at Remus. His gazed was locked on Teddy in her arms for a moment as he listened to that bizarre mix of mirth and sorrow that was helping all those gathered to get the release they needed.

He nodded, forcing a smile as his eyes met hers. "She'd have liked this better. She would have kicked every last one of our arses for blubbering like that."

She huffed out a quick sigh and leaned over, resting her head against his shoulder even as she kept up that soothing rhythm that was stopping Teddy from doing anything more than cooing and giggling.

For Remus' sake, Hermione pretended she didn't feel the way he shook, still quietly crying as he rested his cheek against the top of her head.

* * *

How they managed to cram everyone into the Tonks house, Hermione had no idea. Feeling a bit like Teddy had taken a liking to her, she let Andromeda spend that time with the others, trading stories about her daughter.

At last, Teddy nodded off in her arms while she paced the nursery and she let out a breath. She kept up that cooing tone as she said to the sleeping bundle in her arms, "Too bad no one taught me how to set you down without waking you."

"You could ask for help, you know."

A half-smile curving her lips, she turned to see Remus leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb. Shaking her head, she returned her attention to his son. "Well, now, only if you can also convince him to release the death grip he's got on my hair without waking him while you're at it."

When Remus tipped his head in question, she turned around, letting him see Teddy's chubby little fingers clenched tight around the end of one lock.

"Ah, well," he said, stepping into the room as he reached out. Gently guiding his son's hand to cling to his finger instead of her hair, he said, "I've never been so grateful to have short hair."

"Oh, he'll eventually find a way to get at it, I'm sure." She eased him into the crook of his father's waiting arm.

Remus, with an expression as though he was about to perform some highly sensitive surgical procedure, turned and settled Teddy into his crib. Slowly easing himself up to stand, he caught the angle of Hermione's gaze as she continued to stare in at Teddy, her brow furrowed.

He followed her attention. "Hmm." He breathed the sound as he saw Teddy's death grip was still clamped around his finger. "Suppose we only traded problems, didn't we?"

She stood on her toes, dropping a kiss on his cheek. "I think I'm going to go find Harry."

"All right. I'll be down once my son decides it's time to release his hostage."

Snickering, she nodded and started out of the room.

"Hermione?"

She stopped just over the threshold, pivoting on her heel to face him. "Yeah?"

"I know . . . I know minding a baby's not something your used to. So, thank you." The werewolf shrugged. "You were slightly amazing today."

Waving a dismissive hand, she shook her head and ignored that she could feel a blush flaring in her cheeks at the praise. "Anything for you, Remus. You know that."

As she disappeared through the door Remus stared after her, his expression blank.

Teddy interrupted his father's mind trailing back over the picture she presented, caring for his son like it was second nature.

Remus arched a brow as he looked down into his son's sleeping face. "Oh, don't you snore at me like that. You thought it, too."

* * *

She found Harry sitting with Ginny and his dad. Andromeda looked up at her presence on the main floor of the house and immediately stood up. She gestured toward the staircase, proceeding forward even before Hermione had the chance to respond.

"No, no, he's fine. Sleeping. Remus is with him."

Andromeda nodded, a watery smile playing on her lips. "I feel so awful that I couldn't . . . that I couldn't hold him during the funeral. I just—"

"No one is going to blame you or judge you for that. I can't even imagine how you're not in worse shape right now."

The elder witch sniffled, uttering a small, surprised laugh. "You're too kind."

"No, I'm honest. Sometimes they just so happen to be the same thing." Hermione was sharply aware that all to often her honesty was not viewed as being even remotely 'kind.'

"Thank you, Miss Granger." Andromeda cast a glance over her shoulder at the other mourners. "I'm actually feeling quite tired, now that it . . . now that it's done."

Hermione spared a moment to get Harry's attention before she went on, making sure he knew to come over to them. "Why don't you get some rest," she offered, taking Andromeda's hands in her own. "Remus is with Teddy, and we can see everyone out and clean up for you."

And immediately Hermione considered she might've chosen the wrong thing to say, because Andromeda's huge eyes welled up and her lower lip trembled.

She blinked, drawing in a shuddering breath as she said in a teary whisper, "That's so thoughtful of you. Thank you."

With that, Andromeda went around the room, bidding farewells and thanking everyone for attending the service before she made her way up to her room.

When she was out of earshot, Harry turned to look at Hermione. "Dear God, I thought you were about to make her breakdown all over again!"

Hermione shrugged, her expression baffled. "How was I to know? I've never really been in this position before."

"Fred's is tomorrow," Ginny said in a quiet voice as she came up on Harry's other side. "Mum's been the same way. One moment, she looks like she's handling everything, the next she's bursting into tears because one of us offered to wash the dishes for her."

Hermione and Harry both sagged under the weight of it as they remembered this was far from the last funeral. They were certain by the time they finished, not a single citizen of Wizarding Britain was going to have any tears left in them for the rest of their days.

"Speaking of washing dishes, why don't Ginny and I see everyone out, and you start the clean up?"

"Sure," Hermione said with a smirk, nodding. "I did sort of volunteer you for this, so I should do the heavy lifting."

* * *

"How was Remus?"

Startled, Hermione turned from the sink-load of dishware, looking like she was ready to defend herself with the sponge. Shaking her head and exhaling sharply as she turned her head back toward her task, she said, "What? You've talked to him today, shouldn't you—?"

"I mean since coming back here," James answered, stepping into the kitchen. He stayed on the other side of the room, leaving the table between them. "With their son, in the home she was raised in. Can't be easy."

"He seems . . . to be doing as well as expected, I suppose. I mean, it's still a fresh wound."

"Why are you washing them like that? Why not just use your magic?"

Hermione shrugged. Oddly, it never much occurred to her to handle simple chores with magic. That was probably one of the glaring differences between Muggle-borns and pure-bloods. "It's grounding, actually. Sort of cathartic. You'll never understand how angry you are with someone until you're scrubbing something straight to death after a row."

James snickered.

"What was that like for you?"

Her tone was cautious and immediately his features pinched. "What was what like?"

"Well . . . ." She cleared her throat awkwardly, but hell, one of them had to mention it sometime. "You also lost your wife. You of all people should understand what he's going through."

His sigh was audible through the otherwise empty kitchen. "I do, but I also don't. I'm going to be there for him as much as I can, same as any of you, but . . . I think it's hardly a far-gone conclusion that my circumstances in handling my grief and his are different."

She couldn't look back at him.

"I marked the days. Not because I wanted to. It was just one of the things I did to not lose my mind." James sucked his teeth as he watched the kitchen light bouncing off the toes of his shoes. "Two years, nine months, and three days before I could wake up without feeling like thinking of Lily was tearing out my heart. Twice that before I could go to sleep without being sick to my stomach with worry over what Harry's life was like. I suspect those acceptances might've come sooner, though, if I'd had the company of those who cared for me, as Remus does."

Her vision had gone a bit hazy and her hands went still in the water, a lump threatening to form in her throat. "Must've been awful to manage all that alone."

He laughed, but it was a small, sad sound. "You do what you must to survive. I knew that if I let me losses break me, I'd never be able to find my way back to my son. I wasn't completely alone, though. Not always."

"Yes," she said, giving herself a shake and getting back to the chore in front of her. "I'm sure Yaxley was delightful company."

"Oh, no." James smiled. Perhaps he should've liberated his old cellmate when he'd made his escape. "I'm talking about Willowsby."

She couldn't help a quick glance over her shoulder as she laughed. "Willowsby? Was that Yaxley's cat or something?"

"Oh, no, it was a spider—well, a family of them, anyway—that took up residence in one of the corners. So, I suppose I'm actually talking about Willowsbys I through XI."

"You named the spiders?"

James nodded. "They kept me company, of course I did!"

"Like father like son."

A brow arching, he shook his head. "What d'you mean?

"The spiders that 'kept Harry company' under the staircase. He told me once since the were the only ones who really seemed to pay attention to him when he was little, he had considered naming them sometimes."

"What are you talking about?"

A chill went through Hermione at the lethal tone edging James' voice. She stopped what she was doing, carefully setting down the dish and sponge in her hands.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head as she switched off the faucet. "I . . . I misspoke, it wasn't my place to—"

"Hermione." He made the decision to round the table, coming to stand behind her. It seemed obvious that she only now realized she was telling him something he hadn't already known about. Something distinctly unpleasant about his son's childhood that had been kept from him.

"If Harry wants to tell you, then that's between you and him. I shouldn't have said any—"

He slid a hand around her arm and turned her to face him, his hold gentle. "Spiders under _what_ staircase, Hermione?"

She could see the anger in his eyes. He wanted to know. He wanted to go make whoever'd subjected his son to neglect pay.

Her brow creased and her eyes welled up a little. She'd always wanted to just pop up on the Dursleys' doorstep one day and kick Harry's Uncle Vernon right in the bollocks for how his family had treated Harry. But she knew it was only likely to bring Harry trouble.

So many random days it struck her how awful his childhood had been and it would be all she could do to keep from crying.

And all those tears she'd saved up seemed like they were threatening to burst out of her now as she stared back at James Potter.

"I'm sorry, Harry probably didn't want you to know. He probably didn't want to upset you or hurt you!"

"I'm bloody well hurting now and I don't even know the entire story!"

"I mean he didn't want you feeling like it's your fault for not being able to be there for him!"

"What the hell is going on in here?"

James and Hermione both looked toward the kitchen entryway. There stood Harry and Remus.

James' hand slipped from Hermione's arm as he locked his gaze on his son. "What's this about spiders under some staircase keeping you company?"

Harry's jaw fell open and he looked to Hermione.

She fluttered her hands in front of her face as the tears broke free. "I'm _so _sorry, Harry. I—I didn't know you hadn't told him!"

"I don't even know what it is I haven't been told," James said, even as he heard Hermione sobbing behind him. He pivoted, feeling caught between his son and the crying witch. "And I did not mean to make her cry."

She waved her hand at him, even as Remus—shaking his head and scowling—crossed the kitchen to pull her into the protection of a hug. "It's not you. You didn't . . . you didn't do anything."

Harry sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. Hermione finally went and did it; she'd always said thinking about his childhood made her want to cry and now she was making good on that warning.

Ginny came up behind Harry's shoulder just then. Peering into the kitchen wide-eyed, she saw the back of Harry's head hanging, Remus holding onto a sobbing Hermione and James Potter shaking his head as the expression on his face pinged back and forth between confusion and anger.

The ginger-haired witch held up a finger, ready to ask what she'd walked in on. Just as fast, however, she rethought that. Clamping her lips together, she lowered her hand and stepped away from the scene.

"Okay." Harry said, nodding, his voice reasonable. "Fine. Dad, I'll tell you what Hermione was talking about. But not here. Let's go home and I'll tell you everything you want to know, _but_—" He frowned, shaking his head at his father. "You need to promise me that no matter what I tell you, you will not do anything. I've made my peace with everything. Tearing open old wounds never solves anything."

Hearing such wisdom from his son, James nodded. It was hard to let go of the anger that naturally resulted from even what little he'd heard, but he wanted to do whatever he could to make Harry happy. "Okay."

After she was calmed, Hermione slipped out of Remus' embrace and returned to washing the dishes. She was aware of Harry coming over to drop a kiss on her cheek before he left, and James . . . patting her shoulder, and Ginny's warm hug.

She was aware of Remus settling at the kitchen table, his face in his hands as silence finally overtook the Tonks house.

When she was finished with the last touch of wiping down the sink, she set the sponge aside and turned. Bracing her hips back against the lip of the sink, she let out a weighted sigh.

He looked up. "What?" he asked, a curious half-grin playing on his lips.

"I just can't believe I managed to make the day of a funeral worse than it already was."

Remus folded his lips inward before responding. "Well, you are Hermione Granger. If anyone's going to find a way to do the impossible . . . ?"

"Oh, you're just so funny."

"C'mon." He unfolded his lanky frame from the chair and stretched. "I'll walk you to the gate. You can Apparate home from there."

She nodded. Letting him guide her through the house with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I was a little nervous when I saw Harry had caught you and James talking like that," he admitted when they were out on the porch and descending the steps.

"Why? There was nothing going on."

He held up his free hand in a placating gesture. "I know, I know. But you didn't look like two people who barely know each other. You looked . . . ."

Hermione turned on her heel to face him as they reached the gate. "Looked like what, Remus?"

He shrugged, searching for a way to explain the feeling. "You looked like two people who've gotten comfortable enough to argue with each other."

Her brows shot up and she shook her head. "You and I are comfortable enough to argue with each other and you don't raise a fuss about that."

Shaking his head right back at her, he laughed. "Yes, but not after only knowing each other a week and a half."

She winced. "Oh. I see your point."

"Look, I trust you and I trust him, and if you're both sure nothing's going to come of what already happened, then I believe you." He sighed. "But I'm worried that if you're not careful someone else, for example Harry, might catch on to how comfortable you two seem around each other."

Hermione tried not to grin, but failed as she said, "I'll try to remain _un_comfortable around him at all times."

Remus snickered, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "Goodnight Hermione. See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight Remus."

He watched her Disapparate and then turned on his heel to walk back to the house. Andromeda had more than graciously said he could use the guest room as long as he needed—though he wouldn't say it, he knew it was because she wanted to keep Teddy close to her as long as she could.

He hoped a good night's rest would give the lot of them the strength they'd need to make it through Fred's funeral tomorrow.

And he hoped James would be able to keep his promise to Harry and not go after the Dursleys for their treatment of his son. Oh, yes, had anyone dared to treat Teddy that way, Remus would camp himself on the guilty party's front porch on full moon and just wait for nightfall.

He could almost feel the anger he knew was going to tear through James at Harry's revelations, and the guilt at literally having been barred from stopping any of it. But Harry was right.

No good came from tearing open old wounds.


	9. Eight: The Guilty Silence

There is a little bit of a skip-ahead here (too short to be a time-jump, but significant enough given the events currently taking place in the backdrop [the funerals]), so take it with a grain of salt that the characters have had their hands so full with everything involved in the Second War's aftermath that they are only getting to deal with the fallout from Hermione's slip up now, weeks later.

And I'm sorry Severus doesn't make more of an appearance in this chapter, the timing just wasn't right to really integrate him with the rest of the group just yet. He will have more of a presence in the story moving forward.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

The Guilty Silence

James was . . . beyond reticent, Hermione observed, over the course of the days that followed. Well, over the course of the funerals that followed. He forced a smile for greetings and farewells, but other than that he spent the time staring at the ground with a scowl on his face. Of course, the unpleasantness of his expression was lost on the majority of the other mourners, but aside from Hermione, Harry was aware of his father's state, as was Remus, Ron, and—bizarrely enough—Severus, though he never stayed for the gatherings that followed, only putting in an appearance at the services and then leaving again before anyone could speak with him.

But several times Hermione had noticed the direction of Severus Snape's gaze. It lingered on James, and after a moment of appraisal, he would frown and shake his head before looking away again.

At the receptions afterward in the homes of the fallen's loved ones, James would listen and nod along to conversation, but he never had input.

This was a troublingly long stretch of time to hold onto something so negative without any sort of release.

Finally, the last night—the night before they were to finally move out from beneath the cloud of constant grieving—Hermione pulled Remus aside. She knew the timing of James' descent into silence meant it was likely brought on by Harry revealing his traumatic childhood to him.

God, she felt awful. Harry was trying so hard to pretend like everything was okay, too, which only made her feel worse. If she'd only kept her bloody mouth shut . . . .

"Has he said anything to you?"

Remus' brow furrowed as he shook his head. "No. I think it's obvious what's going on, though."

"It is?" She shook her head right back at him when he looked at her as though she'd just spoken complete gibberish. "I mean, yes, but . . . he's really . . . it's like he's a completely different person since that talk with Harry."

Sighing, he shrugged. "No. It's all part of the same man. James is . . . was and so probably still is, someone who was used to being able to attack the thing that was wrong. He's always been a person of action. Nearly drove him mad when he found out he had to take his family into hiding, because he wanted to _fight_ to protect them and it felt like he was being forced to run away. After hearing what Harry went through, and having his hands tied by the promise he made, he's got nowhere to put his anger at the Dursleys. He's trying to manage that rage and it's not working well. The longer he goes without being able to resolve it, the harder it hits him."

Her shoulders drooped and she found herself drifting over a little, quite naturally leaning into Remus' side. "It's not just anger, though, is it?"

"No." He sighed deeply, the feel of that heavy breath in his chest rumbling against her. "But then you knew it wouldn't be. It's the guilt, too."

Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes as she watched Harry sit down beside James. As she watched him start talking to his dad. James looked up, meeting Harry's gaze. He nodded and forced a smile, murmuring some response. He was finally talking, at least. That was new. She hoped it was a step in the right direction.

"Maybe you should talk to him."

Remus tipped his chin down to look at her. "You're worried about him, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. I'm worried about both of them."

When Remus didn't respond, she leaned back her head against his arm, meeting his gaze. The way he arched a brow at her spoke volumes.

"Okay, yes. I am worried about James, but I'm _also_ just as concerned for Harry. They've both been through a lot, more than I can rightly relate to with my stupid, happy upbringing." She paused to draw a breath as Remus snickered at her choice of words. "And I'm worried that this anger and guilt he's feeling is going to wreck the bond he's forming with Harry if he doesn't find some way to vent it."

The werewolf's leaf-green eyes narrowed in suspicion. He'd been trying to be subtle about it—that her concern was more than just what she was saying. It was because she—in spite of herself, he knew—was starting to care about James Potter in a way she understood she shouldn't.

Harry stood and crossed the room then, coming to stand before Hermione and Remus. His expression was bleak.

"Harry, I'm so sorry. I wish I'd never said anything." She reached out, latching her hands around Harry's wrist. That it had happened weeks ago yet they were only just now getting to discuss the matter as though it had happened yesterday was a testament to how much everyone was trying to take on amid repairing the war-torn areas, tracking down escaped Voldemort supporters, and mourning their dead. It was just as well, as they'd all needed the time to simmer down a bit, anyway.

Well, all except James, apparently, who seemed quite reluctant to do_ anything _save for continuing to simmer.

"He was talking about this spider family, the Willowsbys, that shared his cell and it never clicked that you hadn't said—"

"The Willowsbys?' Remus echoed with a brow arched in curiosity.

Harry and Hermione both looked up at him, shaking their heads as they waved dismissively. "Look," Harry said with a frown, "it's not really your fault. You couldn't have known I'd been keeping it from him. Maybe it's better it came out now rather than somewhere later along the line. And I mean, someone was going to end up mentioning it at some point, it's not exactly a secret my Muggle family aren't the warm, fuzzy, 'yay, he's got magic!' sorts, anyway. Still going to hold it against you if there's ever a reason to in the future, though."

Hermione and Remus both snickered at that.

Remus felt the weight of a gaze on him then. Searching for the source, he found James looking at them. There was no readable expression on his face and that was startling. He wasn't exactly known for hiding his feelings.

"You know what?" he said abruptly to Harry and Hermione. "I think I will go talk to him about all this. What he's going through . . . I think any father worth his salt would feel the same; maybe he just needs to vent to a sympathetic ear. Excuse me." He clapped a hand over Harry's shoulder with a nod and looped his arm around Hermione's shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze before he stepped away.

In his absence she noticed Harry and Ron were having a silent exchange across the room, full of nods and pursed-lipped looks. She didn't dare let her gaze follow Remus—Hermione didn't need to watch the private conversation, just as she didn't need her gaze to linger on James as Harry stood before her.

And the recent weeks of hugs and closeness and quite literally leaning on one another, she did not need another reminder that she was starting to appreciate Remus' tall, wiry frame. So what if he constantly radiated a soothing warmth and it was evident each time he held her in even the smallest measure that he was stronger and sturdier than he appeared? She did not need to watch his gait as he strolled cautiously over to sit beside his friend. The last thing she _needed_ right now was an appreciation for the movement of the werewolf's hips.

Dear Lord. This mess with James had really opened up some sort of flood gates in her mind when it came to noticing males who might be wildly inappropriate for her, hadn't it?

"Hermione," Harry started, oblivious to her internal struggle. "We need to talk about something."

Her heart dropped into her stomach as she kept her eyes locked on his. This did not bode well. Swallowing hard, she nodded and braced herself. "Okay. What is it?"

"Ron and I were talking, and we . . . we've noticed you and Remus seem _close_." He winced and his tone had come out wary.

Her brow furrowed as she gaped at him. This she hadn't expected. "Harry, we've always been close. Well, there was the whole mess when I thought Sirius wanted to kill you and I was furious with Remus for appearing to side with a murderous lunatic, but you know,_ that_ moment aside, yeah. Close."

Honestly. When she had the _actual_ moments of leaning on Remus, of spontaneous hugs, of his arm resting around her shoulders, it simply felt natural. It was only in the brief seconds after they were removed from one another that she noticed the things she'd already _so-what'ed_ about to herself barely seconds earlier.

"No." Again, Harry winced. This was clearly an uncomfortable subject of discussion for him—for Hermione it was a weight off, as she'd immediately assumed he might've noticed something about the way she looked at James. She didn't exactly want to feel the way she did when her gaze met that now-familiar hazel one for a fleeting heartbeat, but they were just her feelings. Her butterfly-stomached, weak-kneed, skin-tingling feelings. She could keep them bottled up. They'd do no harm to anyone stuffed away as she was keeping them. "We mean . . . closer than you were before. As in since . . . since War's End."

Hermione's mouth pulled into a little _O_ and her eyebrows drew upward. That was . . . that was rubbish! They were always and only as close as they'd been before.

Getting a grip on herself sooner than she could start to wonder if there were any truth to the observation, she said, "I think you two are letting your imaginations run away with you."

Harry frowned, shrugging and giving her the look he knew she read as _I hope so_. "All we're saying is . . . be careful, you know?"

"Careful?" she repeated the word as though it were foreign to her. As if Remus would ever harm her! Well, barring that full moon when he'd forgotten his wolfsbane potion and mistaken her for prey, of course. But that was only _one _time! "You've got to be joking."

"It's not that he's older, or because he was our teacher once, and it's certainly not because he's a werewolf." He didn't seem like he was hearing her as he went on. "It's that he's still getting over losing Tonks."

"Oh my God, Harry, listen to yourself!" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. And Ron was with him on this, no less! Ron probably just hoped she was expressing interest in someone new so he wouldn't have to feel guilty for how fast his relationship with Luna was developing. Not that that wasn't stupid—Luna made him happy, and they were friends before anything else, why would he think he should have to feel badly or that Hermione wouldn't understand?

She had_ loads_ of understanding for these things!

Hermione took a breath and let it out slow, centering herself a little. Okay, so perhaps she was getting a bit touchy, but it wasn't anything to do with Ron and Luna, and everything to do with this idea of her best friends insinuating something between her and Remus! As if it wasn't enough she was internally fretting every day about constantly having to see James.

Perhaps now that the funerals had drawn to an end, she could get the space she needed to not have to face anyone for a few days.

"There is nothing 'new' between Remus and me. Okay? _Really_."

He looked doubtful, but nodded. "I just don't want either of you to get hurt, is all. I think we've all been through enough as it is."

Her shoulders slumped. That's what was making him think along these lines. What they'd all been through. Of course. Under any other circumstances, he'd probably be speechless with disbelief over what he was suggesting, but he was trying to be understanding of people finding comfort where they could in the aftermath of the War.

Letting out an airy laugh, she placed her hands on Harry's shoulders. "You don't need to worry about anything, okay? Nothing's changed."

"Okay, all right," he said, holding up his arms in surrender. "I just wanted you to know I'd understand."

Again her brows pinched together. "You would?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply but closed it again and shrugged. "I'd try very, very hard to, anyway."

She snickered in spite of herself, shaking her head as a half-smile curved her mouth. Same old Harry—she was glad the tense situation she'd accidentally created between him and James was not having any lasting negative effect on him.

Whether or not it was having a negative effect on James—lasting or otherwise—beyond his very evident stewing, she hadn't a clue, and she was afraid to pull him aside to ask privately for obvious reasons. She hoped the chat with Remus was helping.

* * *

"You two seem all sorts of cuddly of late," James remarked as Remus seated himself beside him on the sofa.

Remus only looked at him for a moment. Yes, he'd noticed, but noticing wasn't the problem. No, the problem was that it didn't feel bizarre or wrong. Not until afterward, and even then it was a concept he had to make himself think. He'd consider all the conventional reasons to keep Hermione at arm's length. _Then_ he'd remind himself they were friends and to force a distance between them when there was nothing 'wrong' might damage that friendship. _Then _they'd be around one another again, touches of familiarity and comfort would happen, and afterward the doubts would start once more. Vicious cycle and all that.

He knew perfectly well why they found each other's presence soothing. "She and I are—"

"Friends, I know." James closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business who that witch does what with, is it?" He smiled bitterly. "I suppose I'm just looking for reasons to be angry, but you don't deserve that."

"She can't _help_ that she finds comfort in being near me."

The regret in Remus' voice weighed on James instantly. He knew the idea of being close with anyone right now was torture—he did not mean to add to that—yet this seemed more significant somehow than the simple risk of letting someone new into his heart too soon.

"What do you mean by that? She can't help it?"

Remus looked about, frowning. No one was close enough to overhear them, but it was not a pleasant point for him. Nor was it the reason he'd come over here, so he supposed the sooner they got this out of the way, the sooner they could move on to discussing James' feelings over what absolutely terrible human beings the Dursleys had proven themselves to be.

"She . . . she has the curse in her blood."

Hazel eyes shooting wide, James shook his head. "She's a werewolf?"

Remus once more glanced around before lifting a silencing hand. "No. If I'd meant that I'd have simply_ said_ that. It's buried deep, likely a recent ancestor; great-grandparent I'd wager, but she has the lycanthropy curse in her blood. She feels comfortable around me because . . . for lack of a better way of stating it, there is a primal part of her that recognizes me as being 'like her.'"

"Does she know?"

The werewolf only deepened his frown as he shrugged. "I know she suspects. She's too clever not to, and I'm nearly positive she already tried to ask me about it once, the day the war ended. I haven't had the heart to confirm it, but I can't deny it either, because I can't bring myself to lie to her. It's a bit awful if you think about it. The only examples she's had of werewolves are me and Greyback. Not exactly shining pinnacles of our species on either count, now are we? He's a psychotic monster, and I'm . . . well, let's call a spade a spade. I'm a self-hating train wreck."

A laugh sputtered out of James and he covered his mouth with his hand as he met Remus' gaze. The look in his eyes apologetic, he shook his head.

Clearing his throat, he lowered his hand. "I'm sorry. I've just never heard you be so honest about yourself before."

"It's all right." Remus shrugged. "You needed the laugh and I think everyone who's glimpsed that sour face of yours the last few weeks knows it."

James sighed, propping his elbow on his knee and bracing his chin against his fist. "I've been trying to get past this . . . this thing with Petunia and that dreadful husband of hers, but it's like every time I close my eyes, I see some picture my mind has drummed up to go with what Harry told me. If I'd known—if I'd had any idea—"

"You'd have what, exactly?" Remus wanted to leave James to his feelings—he had the right to be bitter and feeling guilty was only natural—but he needed to give him reminders, keep him grounded in reality. "Tried to break out before you could really do anything? Expose that you could perform wandless magic before you were practiced enough in it to really defend yourself and perhaps become the subject of some sick Death Eater experiment? At the very least endangered both yourself _and_ Harry?"

Scowling, James dropped his gaze to the floor. He knew Remus was correct. Really, the only reason he'd not broken out sooner was because he'd had no idea if his wandless Imperius would actually work on a person, let alone a wizard of Corban Yaxley's skill and experience, and if he were discovered to have the abilities he possessed he might never have gotten free. When it finally came time that Yaxley was letting him out, it felt like a 'now or never' moment, and he still considered himself lucky that it had worked out as nearly flawlessly as it had.

Well, until he'd unknowingly shared a kiss with his son's best friend.

Wincing, he found his gaze lifting in her direction in spite of himself. She was engaged in discussion with Harry about something. Poor Harry. He wasn't meaning to make his son feel burdened, but moving on from how Harry's childhood made him feel was beginning to seem as though it just might be impossible.

She shook her head at whatever Harry was saying and smiled. Then she glanced over Harry's shoulder. The witch appeared to give a little start as her gaze caught James.'

For a breathless moment, she only stared at him. Her eyes drifted over to Remus and slowly back to him, her cheeks flushing, and she immediately snapped her attention back to Harry.

James' brows drew upward, but he shook off the notice. Until he turned back to continue his conversation with Remus. And he spotted it—the werewolf had seen that fleeting look, too.

Forcing the discussion forward, James said, "I know you're right. You usually are when it comes to the sensible way to see things. But . . . being sensible doesn't take away from that I want to just . . . hunt down that great, bloated sack Vernon Dursley and beat him bloody with my bare fists."

Remus' eyes widened a little at the visceral imagery. Yes, that would feel good. But no. That was a very, _very _bad line of thinking.

Instead, he decided there was one route that could either prove the best idea he'd ever had, or be the most absolutely terrible notion that had occurred to him in his entire life.

Clamping his hand over James' shoulder, he stood up. "C'mon. We should let Harry and the others know we're leaving so they don't worry you've gone missing again."

"Where are we going?" Despite the question, James climbed to his feet as well.

"I know just the place. It's quiet, no one will look for us there, and just so happens to have a bottle of Fire Whiskey with both our names on it."


	10. Nine: The Harm in Reminiscing

Thank you for following along thus far. I love you all & there's something I didn't want to bring up, but given the rec's & response this fic has gotten on FB, I have to or it's going to keep bugging me. Please understand, this is not a demand or plea for reviews, but I would like to ask if readers do have the time, drop a simple word of encouragement. Here's the thing, as the story progresses, I look at the read count, and it's pretty level across the board, so the same number of people are keeping up with the story, but with each chapter fewer reviews come in. I hate to think it, but it feels like "Freya's going to update no matter what, so she doesn't 'need' encouragement." And I'm not alone, many writers see this trend. While, yes, I'll always update when I have a chapter ready, and my inspiration is not dependent on reviews, when writers see readers enjoying the story, it helps, just a bit, to keep the writer in love with that story. It doesn't have to be fancy, it doesn't have to be something profound that delves deep into the chapter, it can just be a quick sentence that lets the writer know you're there and appreciate them. It can be what your fav scene or line was. So, if you read something—anything, not just my work, but anyone's—consider spending the minute it would take to do so leaving them just a few words of encouragement.

Additionally, the worst kept secret in fanfiction is that some readers gauge whether a story is worth their time based on its review count. When you encounter a story you love & you're like "this is amazing, why haven't I heard of this?" more often than not it's because a bunch of people glossed over the story due to its review count not meeting their standards (& also inevitably falls prey to 'last-chapter-only' reviews that usually read "this is amazing, why doesn't it have more reviews?" ️I mean, it's still a review & you let the writer know you liked their story, but when you've got 30 chapters & the bulk of the readers wait until that last chapter to say anything, first-glance is that not many people enjoyed it enough to say anything, you see?).

If you want to help a fanfic author you love share their story with more people, yes, rec' it, yes, rave about it on FB or wherever your social media preference may be, and leave those reviews if you have a chance, even if all you can think to say is 'good chapter,' or 'thank you.' You have no idea how much it will mean to that writer. :)

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

The Harm in Reminiscing

James couldn't feel his gums. Licking his lips, he peered into his glass. Bugger it all, the blasted thing was empty again. How_ did_ that keep happening?

He should've realized Remus was talking about his own flat. The Tonks house was where his son was sleeping, and the werewolf, of course, didn't want 'Dora's mum to see him getting pissed. Harry was living at Grimmauld Place now, full-time, so if they really wanted to be able to speak on things that might upset Harry, that was also not an option.

"Is my face still on my skull?"

Remus looked over from where he was reclined, upside-down on the armchair, his head dangling against the edge of the seat cushion and his long legs bent at the knees over the top of the chair's back. "Tha's a stupid question. Where else would it be?"

"Fucked if I know. I was only checking, 'cause I think it's gone numb."

Remus sputtered a laugh. "Wait, wait. You were saying something else."

"I was?"

Remus nodded. "I believe you got distracted with counting your teeth."

"Oh, right. They're all there, by the way."

"Yay!"

"Anyway . . . ." James sighed, staring into his abysmally empty glass once more. "I'm not wrong, am I? For feeling this way?"

"Not at all." Remus shook his head and just as quickly stopped, clapping his hands against his temples. "Well, that wasn't wise. Okay. I think you should've told Harry."

"He said—"

"He said not to do anything about it, that doesn't mean you can't come clean with him about just how angry it makes you to know how mistreated he was. I don't think he can really understand how it feels to be a parent hearing something like that happening to a child—a good parent, because _Lord_ knows the Dursleys wouldn't recognize good parenting if it bit them on their useless arses. He never said you had to keep it to yourself, he never said he didn't want to hear how you feel about it all. He only asked that you not 'do' anything."

James uttered a _hmph_ at the reminder. He'd already gone into great, vivid detail about precisely how he'd like to hurt Vernon Dursley, he wasn't sure how much more alleviating talking about it all again could be.

"Although . . . ."

Arching a brow, James echoed the word. "Although."

Remus shifted to sit up and immediately pressed a hand against his face. "Merlin's beard, remind me to stop moving so fast."

"Did you ever notice Dumbledore looked like Merlin? You think he did that on purpose?"

Stroking his stubbled chin in thought, Remus frowned. "I think just maybe he did. Anyway, as I was saying—"

"Well, that's annoying. We keep getting sidetracked from what we're saying."

The werewolf only looked at him for a moment, blinking slow. "And each time it's been your fault, now shut it. _As_ I'd been saying, the promise Harry had you make to him, I think he had a specific idea in mind about what 'anything' entailed."

James set his glass down on the coffee table and peeled himself off the sofa. Crossing the small living room space, he took a seat on the coffee table, facing Remus directly. "Go on."

Remus shrugged. "Think about it. He knows you weren't exactly the quiet, let shit pass peacefully sort when you were his age. He likely meant he didn't want you harming his aunt and uncle on account of his past."

"That much I did catch by myself, thanks."

Rolling his eyes, Remus again shook his head—this time it was a careful, calculated movement, however. "No, no. God you really can be so thick. Wha' I mean is Harry didn't want you to hurt them, but there's nothing to stop you, then, from talking to them and making it clear that if harm ever befalls your son from this day forward, they _will _pay in kind."

James sat up a little straighter as that sank in. "You know, it might actually assuage my anger a little if I could see that spark of fear in that great, ruddy-faced beast's eyes."

"There you go. You'll not have harmed them, you'll get some of your emotions out of your system, and you'll ensure you'd done what you can to protect Harry from them in the future."

As he considered that, James fell quiet. Well, quiet until Remus sputtered a chuckle.

His jet brows pinching together, James couldn't help a smile at the sound. "What?"

Remus waved a hand in front of his face as he tried to keep his laughter stifled so he could explain. "I was just . . . I was just thinking that they don't know you're not dead! Can you imagine the looks on their faces if you just pop up on their doorstep?"

His hazel eyes widening, James played out that notion in his head. Sooner than he could stop himself, he burst out laughing. "Oh, what I wouldn't give to just Apparate and pop up at their table as they're sitting down to dinner!"

Remus doubled over where he sat, laughing harder even as he tried to catch his breath.

By the time they'd both settled down, wiping their eyes with the backs of their hands, Remus was calmed enough to form words again. "God, I don't think I realized how much I missed you until just now."

"Maybe we should get some ice packs prepared for the morning. We're not teenagers, anymore; I expect we'll be nursing some spectacular hangovers when we wake up."

"Makes you miss our Hogwarts days."

James smiled, the look in his eyes a bit distant for a moment. "I always miss our Hogwarts days. Life was so . . . so . . . ."

"Simple?"

"Yes!" James nodded, but his smile lost just a bit of its brightness. "I almost got in trouble a few times, I think."

"Almost? Bloody hell, you and Sirius were the terrors of that school and everyone knew it. Lily and I were just along for the ride." Even drunk, they both knew better than to bring up Peter's name.

James snickered and shook his head. "That's not what I—" He froze up, appearing to realize he'd said something he shouldn't have. "Never mind."

"Prongs?" Remus' gaze, bleary and intoxicated as it was, searched his friend's face. "What are you talking about?"

"I said never mind. It's nothing."

Letting out a weary sigh, Remus hung his head. "Who the hell else are you going to talk to about these things? We're each, _literally_, the only person the other one has to reminisce with this way."

James winced, chewing his lip for a few heartbeats before he finally caved. Damn that werewolf's eyes! "It's about _you_."

Remus' shoulders drooped. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Alternating between nodding and shaking his head, James went on. "Makes the thought of talking to you about it a bit awkward. You'll likely end up taking your own side."

"Now I don't know if I'm curious or concerned."

Sputtering a laugh, James said, "Oh, shut up. Fine. I'll tell you." Clearing his throat, he dropped his gaze to the floor. "When you and Sirius first became involved, I was . . . jealous."

Eyes widening a little, Remus tipped his head slowly to one side. "What?"

"Can I stop now?"

"No, no! You can't . . . you can't just say something like that and then stop without explaining further, Prongs!"

"You're evil making me talk about this, ya bastard." James slumped a little, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes.

"Go on, already!"

"Bastard."

Remus folded his arms across his chest, his jaw setting as he waited.

James uttered a scoffing sound. "I hate you."

His brows inching upward, Remus pursed his lips and went right on waiting.

"Fine." Leaning forward a little where he sat, James propped his elbows on his knees and braced his chin against his palms. "You have to remember, Sirius was my best friend. This was before Lily and I got, well, 'serious', you know nothing really happened there until later, anyway—she sort of hated me at first." He paused, laughing at the memory before his expression sobered again. "I wasn't really used to sharing him. And I thought I didn't mind, because you all were seeing exactly the same person I was. You were friends with exactly the same person I was. And then . . . he started looking at you in this way I'd never seen before. And I remember actually thinking, 'why doesn't he look at me like that?'"

Sympathy shown in Remus' eyes. "Isn't that sort of thing only natural, though?"

"Is it?" Frowning, James shook his head. "There were days . . . I was so selfish. You were one of my best friends in the world and I honestly adored you, but then Sirius would look at you like that and it would hit me, that gnawing jealousy. I'd actually feel like . . . like maybe I hated you, just a little."

Remus opened his mouth to speak, but James wasn't done yet.

"I thought it was just because he was my best friend and I wasn't used to sharing him, just as I said. I thought my jealousy was only based in this dynamic you and he had that I wasn't part of. And I realized I wasn't just jealous of you for having him. I was jealous of him for having you."

Hearing those words, Remus suddenly became acutely aware of the beating of his own heart in his chest. "What?" his voice slipped out in a whisper.

James shrugged, his gaze far off, again. "It was like, I just . . . I don't know. I wanted you both all to myself, even though I knew that wasn't right. Even though I _knew_ it was probably just me childishly wanting what I knew I couldn't have. Even though I knew that neither of you could look at me like that because you didn't see me like that, I _still_ wanted it. See? Selfish."

Remus forced his gaze up, taking in James' face. Lily had made him so happy, it never occurred to him that in the time _before _that, James Potter could've felt that way.

He decided it might just be the alcohol—and the loneliness, and the absolute sea of unresolved feelings drowning them both since War's End—talking as he said, "Why did you never tell us? You absolute_ git_!"

James brought his shocked attention back to Remus. "What?"

"You know Sirius would say those very words to you if he were sitting here right now."

Sighing, James gaped at the werewolf. "I don't . . . why would it have mattered? Neither of you saw me that way and it would've just made things awkward. I'd have ruined everything!"

Remus covered his mouth with his hand. After a moment, his fingers slipped from his face. "You know what? You _were_ selfish, but not for the reasons you think."

Recoiling a little, James continued staring back at Remus. He was making his werewolf friend angry. _That_ was always a good thing. "Okay, genius! Then tell me what it was?"

Those green eyes narrowed. "You were selfish for assuming you knew what other people thought! How the bloody hell would you know what went through our heads, or how we looked at you?"

"What are you talking about? You never—"

"Oh?" Remus shot forward in the chair, his face dangerously close to James' as he just about growled the words. "Sirius fancied you! God, you're so thick! He did. _You_ are the one who never noticed, because you weren't looking at him 'like that' until things between him and me began to change."

James couldn't move. He felt utterly paralyzed by the revelation, by Remus' lashing out. By the awful clenching of his heart at not having noticed Sirius' feelings.

"_I _was the one there in front of him. _I_ was the one afraid that when he kissed me, _you _were the one he thought of! You were one of my best friends, you were his best friend. I had no choice but to let it _all_ go unsaid so I didn't upset anything between us all." Remus was speaking through clenched teeth by now and inwardly cringing over the truth-serum effect of alcohol. "So I started trying to understand what the hell he saw in you. What he thought was so bloody amazing about James Potter, and I hated myself for it—but what was new? I already had reasons to hate myself, so I just tossed it on the pile and locked it away with the rest. But as I watched you, trying to comprehend his feelings, I realized . . . . I _did_ see it, too. He thought James Potter was so bloody amazing because he _was._" His voice was small, the anger seeming to wash out of him as he finished talking.

James found himself staring at his old friend, trying to grasp how he'd missed so much. Had he really been so unobservant? Oh, of course he had been! He was James Potter! And he only noticed what _he_ wanted to!

Clamping his hand around the back of Remus' neck, he rested his forehead against the werewolf's as he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I really was a selfish shit."

Remus was a little surprised by the gesture, but he didn't fight it. Instead, he snickered as he said, "_Was_?"

He became aware of James going very still. Became aware of James' breath warming his skin, causing it to tingle pleasantly. Of the fact that his breath was having the same effect on James.

Neither was sure which of them tipped his head, their lips meeting in a tentative kiss. There was an awareness of fingers curling into fabric, of one head tipping further, thrusting his tongue between the other's lips. The kiss was returned, feverishly, that thrusting tongue caressed, suckled at . . . .

They broke apart, each breathing a bit heavily as they stared at one another in surprise.

"This might not be the best time for this," James said, his airy whisper reasonable.

"Because I'm still in mourning."

Nodding, the jet-haired wizard offered, "And we're drunk."

"_So_ drunk," Remus agreed with a laugh.

"And we're both dealing with unresolved emotions about the same witch."

Scoffing, Remus shook his head. "Shut up with that. I told you, I'm not—"

James' mouth covering his again for a quick moment cut off his words. "Stop denying it. It's not healthy."

Remus slumped where he sat. Even if he wanted to pursue something more than friendship with Hermione, just like whatever might've happened with James tonight if they both weren't so aware of all the reasons not to, he knew it was a question of time. He was still grieving. He had to give himself time to mourn, to move on from his loss on his own power, or anything that could happen with anyone 'new' would only be a distraction from that, and he wouldn't do that to either of them.

"Thinking we should sleep, and revisit whatever we remember about this . . . discussion—and I do mean the discussion part—in the morning, when we're nice and sober."

Remus nodded, slipping out of James' hold and standing. "But you're sleeping on the sofa."

"Ha-ha," James said with a grin as he moved to stretch out on the aforementioned piece of furniture. "As if I'd go to bed with _anyone_ on the first night? It's like you don't know me at all!"

* * *

"Are you actually _studying_?"

Hermione gave a start late the next morning as she sat at one of Fortesque's outdoor tables, books open before her. Looking up, she saw a familiar, spindly figure in dark robes.

"Good morning, Professor."

"Professor?" he echoed, his expression uncertain. He gestured at the seat across from her. "May I? Or are you waiting for someone?"

"No, go ahead."

Severus settled himself across from her and looked over the books she'd gathered on the table. All were standard seventh year materials. "Why are you studying? I'll remind you Hogwarts is not open in the capacity of a functioning school at present, and won't be again until the start of term on 1st of September."

"Oh, I know," she said with a nod, going back to her note-taking. "I fully intend to return to Hogwarts in September."

His dark brows pinched upward. "Why would you? After your exploits over the last year, I don't believe there's anything more _any_ institution of magical learning can teach you."

Her quill dropped from her fingers and she gaped up at him in disbelief.

"What?" he asked, his lip curling—he was frankly a little uncomfortable with her unabashed scrutiny.

"I just . . . I do believe that was the first time you've ever . . . . You just praised me."

He arched one of those dark eyebrows at her and then narrowed his eyes. "I did no such thing. I was merely speaking an observation."

"Mm-hmm. And anyway, it's strictly because I want the formality of completing my education there. Can't exactly do that if I don't attend." She returned her gaze to her studies, even as that know-it-all half-smile curved her lips. "I notice you questioned me referring to you as 'professor.'"

Severus shrugged, settling back in his chair. "Because I haven't been your teacher in nearly a year."

"You won't be returning to your teaching post at Hogwarts, will you?"

"I don't believe so, no." He looked down the street over her shoulder, his gaze fixing on Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"What would you do, instead?"

"Might take a page out of the Weasley twins' book. Open a potions shop, maybe."

Hermione again lifted her attention from her preemptive studying—he was right, though, none of this was anything she didn't already know—and followed his gaze with her own. Turning in her seat, she found herself staring at the joke shop. It was sadly closed for now. She wasn't certain if George would ever have the heart to reopen without Fred, but all the Weasley boys and Ginny had volunteered to come work with him if he chose to go back to it.

"What should I call you if not Professor?"

Severus looked thoughtful as he stroked his chin. "Well, Severus would probably make the most sense, but I believe that would signify a change in dynamic."

"It is a change in dynamic, you said so yourself. You were my teacher, now you're not. Change."

Those dark eyes narrowed as he returned his attention to her face. "Fine, then. I am uncomfortable with the familiarity. Does that answer suit more adequately?"

"Yes, actually." She tapped her quill against her parchment. "There's always Mr. Snape."

After a moment, they both crinkled their noses in distaste and shook their heads.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the way they'd just mirrored one another's expressions. To think she'd once been utterly terrified of this man. "You seem to believe 'man who runs the potions shop' might have a good ring to it. I know, what about 'Oi, you over there!' That could work."

He sighed, rolling his eyes as he grumbled, "Fine, you can continue calling me 'Professor.'"

The witch beamed. "Thank you."

Severus shook his head at her bright disposition. Honestly, it was like sitting across from a ray of bloody sunshine, but then again studying did make the young woman feel she was in her element.

He nodded toward the books. "I don't believe those are the correct books for someone who'll be returning for what is, technically, their eighth year. They'll have more advanced materials, no doubt, to accommodate for what the War taught you."

She looked up, some of that brightness fading. "Oh, um . . . ." She grabbed up a clean scrap of parchment. "What titles do you think those would be?"

Sighing, he looked to her empty container. She'd long since finished her ice cream, but the proprietor had no desire to kick her, or anyone else, out. They, like all the other shopkeepers, were too pleased that life was finally getting back to normal to ruffle any feathers.

He stood up from his chair and her gaze trailed the movement, questioning. "Come along. We'll pop into Flourish & Blotts and see if they might have any of them."

"Oh!" she said again, hurrying to put away her things and standing to follow him. "Thank you! That's so kind."

Severus just barely refrained from rolling his eyes as he conceded, "So unlike me, I'm aware."

Hermione snickered, shaking her head as she followed him toward the bookshop. While they crossed Daigon Alley, her attention snagged on the dark, abandoned corridor that was Knockturn Alley.

Noticing her wayward glance, he turned to caution her. "Miss Granger, I know you've heard the stories about all the things left behind there since its abandonment, but I urge you to recall the old saying about the cat."

Yet she was already inching toward the corridor, her _curiosity _indeed getting the better of her. "So much to study. Can't we just have a quick peek?"

"Miss Granger, no. We cannot."

She squared her shoulders and met his gaze, challenging—he knew he should've kept up the more domineering demeanor she'd become accustomed to from him while she'd been his student. This relaxed, friendly nonsense was bound to bring trouble. "Well, then if 'we' cannot, you stay here and I'll go. I promise not to touch anything, I simply want to have a look. I am, after all 'just curious.'"

Severus stared after the witch in disbelief as she walked toward the mouth of Knockturn Alley.

A few moments passed before he realized she was not going to change her mind and hurry right back to where she'd left him. Making a growling sound under his breath, he shook his head and started after her.

Honestly, the woman was impossible!


	11. Ten: Misadventures in Knockturn Alley

So, it happened. As predicted, despite most readers being awesome about the forewarned change in the story's ship dynamic, someone got salty over it—in not just one, but two anonymous reviews (back-to-back very obviously from the same person [I have my guest reviews on moderation, so they are not in public view until I allow it, I hadn't, yet the second comment tacked exactly onto the first, in a way that would not be possible unless the person leaving the second one knew what the first one said, which they couldn't have, because that's just how FFN review moderation works]). I deleted them, because they didn't have anything to do with the actual content of the story, but . . . this person got to the last chapter, then noticed the change in pairing and told me that I'd 'pulled a dirty trick' by listing it as Jamione and then changing it to James/Hermione/Remus. Let that sink in, kids. I was open with everyone from the moment it occurred to me that there might be a change, I spoke about it more than once, and only changed the ship pairing when I was certain.

It's completely okay to not like a change to a story you're reading. You're not obligated to continue if you find that it no longer appeals to you, but trying to guilt the writer for letting their story evolve is not all right. Chances are they feel bad enough already, because they're aware some readers may feel deceived. It's okay to be unhappy with a story change and stop reading, it's even okay to tell us the story is no longer your cup of tea because of it. It is not okay to act personally affronted because a writer changed something in their story. We share our stories with you lot for the sake of those in the fandom who might enjoy reading our works as much as we enjoy writing them, but at the end of the day, it's not about you, it's not even about them. It's always only about the story.

As for all of the rest of you who've been supportive encouraging even if you don't always agree with story-decisions . . . you all rock and I absolutely adore you. ;)

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Misadventures in Knockturn Alley

The moment James opened his eyes, the harsh light of the afternoon sun streamed through the window to hit him square in the face. Merciless. He immediately regretted that they had not, in fact, prepared any ice packs for their pending hangovers the night before. Holding up an arm to block the searing glare, he spotted a very sleep-rumbled Remus through the kitchen entryway. The werewolf sat hunched at the table, nursing a mug—probably black coffee, James assumed—and making do with pressing a visibly damp rag to his forehead.

Peeling himself off the sofa, the bleary-eyed wizard crossed the living room on slow, trudging footfalls. "Tell me what's in the mug is hot, the cloth ice cold, and that you've got another of each waiting for me."

Remus waved dismissively over his shoulder. "On the counter, next to the pain-relieving potion. Add a few drops to your coffee, the caffeine helps it kick in faster." He gestured to indicate the damp washrag he held. "This is just until it does."

James' brows shot up at this bit of welcome advice, only to exhale a hissing breath at how the change of expression actually hurt his forehead. "Thank you."

Remus was quiet, contentedly sipping his home-concocted pain remedy as James prepared his own cup one-handed while he pressed the other rag—still damp and chilled with a mild freezing charm—to his forehead. He thought he might well collapse against the counter in relief for the immediate effect it had at dulling the fierce ache in his skull.

"We are definitely no longer young enough to crawl into the bottom of whiskey bottles anymore," he surmised with a short, airy laugh. Turning after a few steadying breaths, he leaned his hips back against the counter's ledge. "What time is it, anyway?" he asked, lifting the mug to his mouth for a long, draining swig.

"Just after twelve," Remus answered, shaking his head. The stuff was beginning to do its job and he blinked hard, trying to will it to work just a bit faster. "Look, about the things we said . . . and what happened last night—"

"You urged me to tell Harry how I feel about what the Dursleys did to him, then there was a deeply revealing chat about our teen years, followed by a rather pleasant incident which shan't be repeated for at least the next few months for both of our own good, and there _might've_ been a scrap of denial from you about a certain young witch I'm not supposed to mention. Have I left anything out or misunderstood the situation in any way?"

His gaze roving the ceiling in thought, Remus gave another shake of his head. "Um, no, actually, that sounds like everything and, well, no to that second part, too. Anyway, you know what this means we should do?"

Uttering a miserable sound, James' frame sagged where he stood. "You're not going to make me think some more before this kicks in, are you?"

"Well, I was willing to provide the answer if you couldn't come up with it."

James sighed wistfully and took a long swig of pain-reliever coffee. "You've always been such a good friend."

Snickering, Remus responded, "And I suspect you still might be a _tad _drunk. But what we should do is go to Grimmauld Place. You should have a sit down with Harry and do what I said—be open with him about how you feel. It might help get rid of some of the anger you're holding."

Dragging himself to the table, James pulled out the chair opposite his friend and sat down heavily. "I don't know. I mean . . . ." He set down his mug, tracing the porcelain rim with a fingertip as he frowned. "I's just that anger, well, there's a_ lot_ of it. I'm not sure he's ready to see that side of me. Not sure he can handle it after everything he's been through."

"Like it or not," Remus said, shrugging, "he's no longer a child. I think he can handle it. More importantly, I think it should be up to _him_ if he can or not, not either of us."

James curled one hand into a fist and dropped his forehead down atop it. "I don't even know how to start. What if I freeze up in the middle of the wrong part and he thinks that's the entire thing? What if I get out two words and he refuses to listen to the rest?"

Remus reached across the table, patting his friend's forearm encouragingly. "That's why I'll be there. To help."

"I suppose that's what friends are for," James whispered in a grateful tone.

Unable to help himself, Remus spoke as he lifted his mug to his lips for the last sip. "That and the occasional drunken snog, sure."

"Oh!" James laughed, groaning. "Rather sure we said we weren't going to talk about that."

"Moment needed a little levity." The werewolf nodded, standing from his seat. He knew James' anger wasn't solely about the Dursleys—it was about_ everything_ dark that had occurred since the night he'd been taken by Yaxley. All that he'd missed, all that would never have befallen Harry, or Sirius, or any of them, really, if he'd only had the chance to be there with them still weighed on him. The Dursleys were no saints and more than deserving of a decent helping of that negativity, but Remus realized that this one facet was quickly becoming a channel for _all _of the wrath inside James that the man was pretending wasn't there.

It made sense then that James thought he might scare Harry. The rage he was feeling seemed to be about this _one_ thing—seemed disproportionate, even for how awful his in-laws had been—and he might make some mistake in how he presented his emotions to his son.

"Look, I get it," Remus went on. "I can understand why you're concerned, but I'm afraid you're underestimating him. You're also discounting that he might sympathize more strongly than you think. Harry's had the occasion to let himself drown in anger that outweighs what he's angry about, too."

"Like father like son I suppose then, yeah?" James asked, lifting his head to arch a brow at his friend. He heard the echo of Hermione's voice in his head. She'd said that very same thing—_like father, like son_—during that bungled conversation in the kitchen of the Tonks house that had started all this emotional bloodshed.

God. She must still feel awful about her slip up. His own inability to even talk to her to tell her it was all right for fear he might end up snapping at her probably didn't help matters.

"In that you're both pretty shit at managing your emotions? I'd say."

His shoulders shaking in a silent laugh, James nodded. "So, a werewolf is telling _me_ anger management issues run in my family?"

Remus snorted a chuckle at that as he moved to fix himself another cup—sans pain relieving potion now that the pounding in his head had stopped and he could move without his entire body screaming at him. "If anyone would know, right?" It was also why he was so familiar with quick pain fixes, but he knew neither of them would mention that. "Finish your cup, have a second, then we'll be on our way to talk to Harry."

* * *

Despite that Severus had followed after Hermione, trailing no more than a few feet behind her, she could not shake the deep, unnerving feeling that she was alone. As she stared up at the gnarled and twisted edifices with their dark, lifeless windows—here and there broken, cobwebbed, as though the place had been abandoned for years rather than a few months—there was an icy tendril of foreboding winding through her stomach.

Yet, as unsettling as the sensation was, combined with the dull echo of her own footfalls against the road in her ears, and Professor Snape's voice calling her even though it felt like she couldn't actually hear him just now—as if the empty silence of the alley somehow muffled him—she was also strangely thrilled by it.

"I must again protest to this . . . adventure, Miss Granger." Severus had his hand in his cloak, his fingers resting over his wand in a cautionary measure. Waking up each day with the relief that he was no longer beneath the thumb of the Dark _or_ the Light—which he understood was perhaps regrettably blunting the sharp and prickly attitude everyone expected from him—did nothing to dampen the fear that somewhere, lurking, hiding in the shadows, there might be those waiting to strike at him for betraying their odious Dark Lord.

She waved dismissively over her shoulder at him, oblivious to his wary movement as her gaze dropped from the warped spire outlines of the crowded rooftops to peer further down the road ahead of them. "Well, if I happen to get myself into too much trouble, just Apparate to Grimmauld Place to fetch Harry and pop right back."

"Come now, Miss Granger," Severus said, tsking, his voice absolutely dripping condescension. "You expect me to believe that if you do get yourself into 'too much trouble'—though with your history I dread to imagine what level of trouble would constitute 'too much'—that Mr. Potter would be the one able to undo whatever catastrophe you'd have brought upon yourself?"

"Because chances are that if I put myself in danger, it will be because_ I_ overestimated my ability to handle something, and while Harry might not be able to 'undo' anything—nor am I suggesting that his skills in magic are in any way beyond yours—he knows me better than anyone else, and therefore is the best option to make me listen to reason and talk me down off any proverbial ledges I'll have placed myself on."

Severus' dark eyes rolled and he shook his head. "That hardly seems like reason enough."

Halting mid-stride, she pivoted on her heel to face him. Hermione offered him a thoughtful, tight-lipped grin. He had considered her a nightmare inside the classroom? Oh, he had _no_ idea what he was in for in tagging along with her in a place where he had no authority over her. "Isn't dragging Harry back here to assist you better than having to report some incident to the Ministry because you let your former student—under_ your_ supervision—get herself into a dangerous situation?" Professor Snape might not have any authority over her, but she knew he'd still feel responsible if something tragic were to befall her in his presence.

He opened his mouth to respond and then snapped it shut, his eyes narrowing into a glare. "I daresay the only thing that ever kept you from being recruited to the Dark was your blood-status, Miss Granger."

The witch folded her lips, keeping in a laugh. Oh, she'd always known that aside from her considerable intellect, she had a bit of darkness and . . . perhaps unjustified anger in her, which rose to the surface whenever something which made her feel uncertain of herself cropped up—that, were she a pure, or even half-blood, she surely would've been pressured to pledge herself to Voldemort's service. She strangely considered it a compliment that Professor Snape was clearly aware of the very same fact, despite how cognizant she was that he'd meant it as a dig about her malicious streak.

For a fleeting second, she wondered what his reaction would be were he to learn _she _was the reason his robes had burst into flames during that quidditch match when she was a First Year. Well, probably best he _not_ find out whilst they were completely alone and skulking about an abandoned area no one ever ventured into anymore.

"My point remains valid," she said with a shrug, turning back only to stop in her tracks after a few steps. "Hullo, what might _you _be?"

To Severus' dismay, no sooner had the question fallen from her lips than had she started off again. Her stride determined, she made a beeline for the half-open door of The Coffin House. He thought he shouldn't be surprised that only ten minutes into following along after her to ensure she did not, in fact, get into 'too much trouble,' the young woman had happened upon the Necromancy shop.

At least she had the good sense to draw her wand—though her attitude made it clear she did not share his suspicions of possible lurking threats—as a cautionary measure when she reached that darkened doorway and peered inside. "I thought Necromancy was debunked as the dark whimsy of Muggles trying to vilify magical folk?"

"That would've been what you'd read about the subject in Hogwarts, yes," he said with a nod, watching her as she carefully stepped across the threshold. "Largely it isn't what Muggles make it out to be. It is the art of using death in your magic, not the art of controlling the dead. Very wide margin there."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, snorting a giggle. "I'd say!"

He slipped in behind her, having a tad more issue navigating the half-open doorway than she, given his height. Oh, he could've simply opened the door wider, certainly, but he was reluctant to touch even a single thing in this entire damned alley. If that meant he looked a mite ridiculous as he ducked, side-stepped and . . . possibly even shimmied a very tiny bit to get through the doorway, then so be it.

His only possible witness' back had been to him at the time, anyway, so no one would know the embarrassing movement had happened at all.

Hermione felt that thrill of foreboding once more as she gaped about at the establishment's interior. Long-dead creatures hung from the walls, like sausage in a Muggle delicatessen. There were bits in jars that distinctly did not look like they'd come from some wild thing caught in a forest . . . unless that wild thing was only wild on the full moon, perhaps. There were 'fresher' samples of spell components and potions ingredients under glass by the register, she could tell from the magic ebbing off them that the stasis charm cast on the case was still in effect. Well, from the magic_ and_ from the distinct lack of a rotting flesh smell in the air.

Her brows pinched together as she approached the counter, feeling a just a little as though one of the . . . specimens she was eyeing might blink at any moment. "Professor?"

Severus barely held in a sigh, already having known the question was coming. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"When you said it's the art of using death in your magic, you literally meant bits_ of_ the dead?"

"What was it you thought I meant?"

"I dunno, I guess it's not the using dead things in magic that surprises me. I think maybe I believed there _wouldn't_ be a shop full of dead things; like the art involved grave robbing, or possibly murder for a fresh kill?"

Again he sighed, this time the exasperated breath escaping through his nostrils. Forgetting himself, he leaned an elbow back against the counter space. "And then how is this different from your average butcher shop?"

She shot him a withering look. "Now you know perfectly well how that's different."

"Do I?" he asked, his brows inching upward in question. "Think on the issue pragmatically. Funny, you're probably the only person aside from myself whom I thought would never be in need of a reminder to do so. In a butcher shop the items displayed are intended as food to fuel the body. In here, well, the fuel is intended for magic. Same concept, only slightly different goods."

"Only 'slightly' different goods?" she echoed, appearing like she might turn green.

Severus offered a languid shrug. "The pig in the butcher shop or the vampire eyes in the jar—they're both dead things, Miss Granger. The only difference really is how their remains will be used by the living."

Her cheeks puffed outward as she glanced about again. "I think I may be a vegetarian after this."

"Really?" He shrugged, frowning thoughtfully. "Because I believe I just made myself want bacon."

She gasped, the bridge of her nose crinkling. But then she noticed the way one corner of his mouth plucked upward ever so slightly. "Oh my G—that was a joke? _You_ just cracked a joke?"

Confusion lit his gaze as he held up his hands in what almost appeared a gesture of surrender. "I also need oxygen to breathe, get surly if I do not sleep at least six hours a night, and have a terrible dependence on a properly brewed cup of tea. I _am _human Miss Granger, and as such am occasionally prone to a need for amusement."

"Yes, well, I'm certain a great many of your students would be shocked to hear that. Did you know there's a rumor around Hogwarts that you're a vampire?"

Severus tipped his head to one side, incredulous at the very idea. "Now that's just nonsense."

"I know!"

"If I had eternity, I'd like to think I'd be doing something far more interesting with my time than teaching."

Hermione frowned, putting away her wand. "Actually I meant because we've seen you in broad daylight and you've had obvious wounds that took time to heal."

"Oh, well, yes. I suppose that's true, as well."

The witch shook her head. "Now who's the one not being pragmatic?"

He held up his hands. "Once again, only human. Now, have you sated your curiosity about this place, little cat?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just call me that."

Scowling, he nodded. "I'm inclined to agree. For some reason that sounded considerably less disturbing in my head. Regardless, are you ready to leave this wretched hovel of death?"

Darting her gaze about the shop and its gruesome merchandise one more time, she nodded. "This _particular_ wretched hovel of death? Sure. On to the next! Shall we?"

Severus held in a growl as she traipsed directly past him—on flitting steps, no less—and out the door.

And so he followed along after her, threading their way through Knockturn Alley, winding into and then back out of this shop and that. Eventually, they ended up in Borgen and Burkes, and there came an incident wherein Miss Granger had accidentally opened a minuscule portal into a realm that just might've been the Underworld. Between the two of them, they managed to get the gateway closed quickly enough, but now there was a tiny somewhat bat-like creature hovering around her.

Though sending the little beast back would only require reopening said portal, they weren't _entirely _certain how she'd done it in the first place, so the attempt might only bring further chaos . . . or at the very least summon up a larger bat-like thing.

"What do we do with it?" she asked, swatting gently at the thing as it tried, once more, to settle on her shoulder only to end up getting its paws tangled in her wild hair.

"It's fairly harmless and seems to have taken a shine to you. I suppose you'll just have to keep it until we figure out how to send it back without creating some sort of catastrophe."

"Keep it?" Her brows pinched together. The thing was like . . . like someone had tried to crossbreed a cat and a bat, only it had a dragon's tail, and she knew no dragon was so small, so either this thing was a baby and was bound to grow much larger given time, or it truly was an amalgam creature some warped soul had metaphorically stitched into being, and she wasn't even certain that second option was possible. "Oh, thank God I sent Crooks off with my parents."

"I would take the little fellow myself, but it does seem rather attached to you."

Hermione dreaded to ask, as he'd already scanned the creature twice with his wand looking for Dark or malicious energy and she didn't want to seem like she was doubting his abilities or knowledge, but she couldn't quite help herself, "Are you sure it's safe?"

"Miss Granger, a patchwork creature such as that is in far more danger existing in our world than you are—or anyone else is, for that matter—from it being_ here_."

She blinked rapidly a few times, thinking that through. "Patchwork? So you think someone did, in fact, _make_ this creature? Like some sort of Frankenstein's Monster, only . . . cuter?"

His brief personal history with the Muggle world had permitted him some experience with literary horror classics. "There was rumor that Mary Shelley might've been a Muggle-born witch, so pulled by the lure of the Dark that she thought to master it by doing something never accomplished before. Bring life out of death _without_ sacrifice. They say her novel was based upon actual experiments she either conducted, or financed, in some dusty Italian catacombs somewhere."

"Really?" Hermione could not help that she was a bit breathless at this revelation. "I shall have to read that book again, sometime."

He snickered.

"But you're saying it's in danger here?"

"I believe it might be, if left on its own. The war's end did not eliminate all Dark factions from Wizarding Britain, Miss Granger. Indeed, I'm not even certain it would be safe from the Light. Creating such a . . . being, and having it survive would be a grand achievement, and something of utmost curiosity in the right circles."

She understood immediately. It was only her apprehension of the bizarre little beast that kept her from trying to grab hold of it and hug it to her in a gesture of comfort and security as she said, "You mean they'd want to pick it apart to figure out how whomever it was got it to work?"

Severus nodded. "Literally. The most probable explanation for where we found it is that its creator put it there to keep it safe from their enemies and allies, alike."

"Well, in that case . . . ." The witch shifted her weight from one leg to the other and back as she considered it. Not really a choice, was there? "I suppose I could keep it with me until we figure out how to send it back."

"I will study up on this matter and keep you apprised of my findings." With a flick of his wand he cast a charm on the creature, altering its appearance enough that it resembled the average black cat. The disguise was good enough to keep any curious parties from looking too closely. "Now, shall we?"

"Sure." Hermione sighed, letting the 'bat' perch on her shoulder. Yet, as they stepped out onto the cobblestone walk, she spied one final doorway she'd not crossed. "In a minute!"

"Oh, no, not this again. Miss Granger, _please_!"

Her shoulders slumping—causing Bat, which was what she was now calling it, apparently, to let out a little unhappy mew-screech to find itself unceremoniously jostled—she said, "It's just one more stop. And it's the only place we haven't seen."

Holding in a groan, he once more trailed after her as she headed for Potage's Cauldron Shop. He told himself, trying to breathe a bit easier now that this misguided undertaking was nearly at its end, that there was no trouble to be found in a bloody cauldron shop.

* * *

"He left a note in his room for you. Went to the Burrow." Remus said with a shrug as he came down the stairs. James lingered in the first floor corridor. "We can go there? Or we can wait here. What do you want to—?"

The werewolf's question was cut off by the sudden pop of someone Apparating into the house. The pair whirled instantly, prepared to defend themselves.

"Oh, God, it's you?" Remus said, wincing and putting his wand away with a visible measure of reluctance.

Severus didn't seem to even notice that irritation in Remus' voice—or to care. He turned his attention on James. "Where's the other Potter?"

Hazel eyes narrowing in suspicion, James offered in a cautious tone, "We were just looking for him, ourselves. What d' you want with my son, Severus?"

God, where was that wretched young man when Severus _actually _needed him? His features pinched in a thoroughly unpleasant look. "It's not what I want with him. I'm . . . I'm here at _Miss Granger's_ request."

The pair exchanged a look. "Hermione's gotten herself in trouble, hasn't she?" Remus asked.

"It's Hermione Granger," Severus answered through clenched teeth. "What do you think?"

"And just why the hell were you in her company when she got in trouble?"

The dark-eyed wizard bristled at James' question. "Our paths crossed in Diagon Alley, she decided Knockturn Alley piqued her interest. She was going to venture in there alone whether I followed along or not. Everything was _mostly_ incident free until the cauldron shop."

"How the hell did she get herself into trouble in the cauldron shop?"

A scowl fixed itself on Severus' face. "Amusingly, I'd thought nearly those very same words. I don't know how she managed, but there was one that was, apparently, spelled as some sort of trap and now she's, um, stuck inside."

"She's what?" they demanded in unison.

"Oh, well, it would seem whoever spelled it cast an extension charm on it, making it a veritable pit."

"So you just left her there?"

Severus rolled his eyes. There was no time for this. "She insisted I go for help—non-Ministry-related help. If I'd gone in after her and neither of us could find a way back out, then we'd both be trapped and possibly never heard from again. I thought listening to her was the more ideal option!"

"Why didn't you stop her?"

Remus' eyes closed as he shook his head. James had the least experience of anyone in the room with Hermione Granger, it was no wonder he thought the witch would listen to reason when her curiosity was ignited. "No, no. When she gets . . . enamored of an idea, there's no stopping her."

"Exactly," Severus said with a nod, feeling strangely grateful to the werewolf for vocalizing his agreement. "What did you expect me to do? Cast a sticking charm on the woman to glue her feet to the ground?"

"Is that what it would've taken?" His brow arching, James couldn't help that he spoke in a tone of disbelief, a disbelief which only grew when each of the other wizards answered with a nod. Certainly Hermione had already come across as strong-willed, even stubborn, but to have two men who had both been her teachers in the past agree that even _they_ could not talk her out of anything when she had made her respect for the institution of learning so very clear surprised him.

"All right." James would ignore the way his heart clenched at the thought of Hermione in danger. "Our chat can wait. We should get Harry, though."

Remus nodded, his eyes seeming a bit sightless and his voice tumbling out low. "I'll go to the Burrow to fetch him and meet you at that cauldron shop."

Finally turning his full attention on Severus, James flexed the fingers of his right hand, magic crackling from his fingertips. "Well, then, let's go rescue ourselves a witch."


	12. Eleven: Secret of the Half-Blood Prince

Some fans of Severus might not like the revelation in this chapter, BUT I would like you to bear in mind that this does not carry over to other stories, but it simply works for this one. Also, I get annoyed at how often the aspect of genuine friendship in the young Lily-Severus dynamic is basically dismissed (regardless of his asserted sexual orientation/preference/identity by whatever writer or critic) for the sake of deciding he was 'obsessed' with her.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Secret of the Half-Blood Prince

"Wait . . . Hermione did what?"

Remus sighed, his shoulders drooping. Thank Merlin he'd taken steps to handle his hangover or he'd never be able to deal with this. He'd explained perfectly clearly, yet there Harry stood behaving as though he'd just spoken ancient Greek. "I said she was exploring the shops of—"

"No," Harry interrupted with a thoughtless shake of his head as he raced through the Burrow's wonderfully cramped and thread-bare living room to stand before the werewolf. "No, I meant why was she with Snape?"

Refraining from rolling his eyes—he always felt so old, so matured by his life experiences, until he was around Harry, the younger Weasleys, Hermione, even, then he was sharply reminded that he was only a man in his 30s and not at all as aged as he often thought of himself—Remus pointed to the same fact that Severus had back at Grimmauld Place. "They ran into one another and his choices were let her wander off on her own or go with her, because she was going to go regardless of his decision."

Harry raked his fingers through his hair. "Of course she was. I swear, that woman is like a cat. We should put a bell 'round her neck that sounds through all of Wizarding Britain when she wanders off."

Remus' brows pinched upward, his mouth puckering as he considered the notion. "Have to get her to hold still long enough so we could put it on her."

"Yeah, that would never happen. All right, let's go."

Looking deeper into the house and then returning his attention to Harry, Remus asked, "Don't you want to bring Ron or Ginny?"

Shrugging, Harry ushered the other wizard out the door and pulled it closed behind them. "Oh, no. Ron is with George, I'd rather not interrupt them. And Gin is still in bed." Harry's cheeks immediately pinked. It wasn't the words he'd used, they were innocent enough on the surface, it was the off-handed way in which he'd said them. "Uh, what . . . what I meant to say was—"

"What _did_ you mean to say there, Harry?" Remus could not help a smirk curving his mouth as he looked at the younger man.

This was not a side of Remus Lupin Harry expected. He supposed the reintroduction of a best friend believed lost and . . . whatever was going on in his heart as far as Hermione was concerned, must've lifted a weight from the werewolf's shoulders.

His features pinched, Harry let out a scoffing laugh as he said, "Oh, shut up." With that he drew his wand and Disapparated, a snickering Remus Lupin following close behind.

* * *

James did _not_ like this. While what he knew of Hermione Granger already indicated that if anyone could end up stuck in a booby-trapped, extension-charmed cauldron, it would be her, he could not be completely sure this wasn't some trick on Severus' part.

As they crossed the threshold of the broken down shop, he halted. Severus paused behind him, refusing to be stopped short by bumping into James.

"What?" the lanky man demanded.

Scowling, James pivoted on his heel to face him. He merely held Severus' gaze in a displeased look for an uncomfortably long moment.

Severus rolled his eyes, his bony shoulders drooping as he shook his head. "What?" he asked again, but his tone was far more exhausted this time, almost petulant sounding.

"How do I know this isn't a prank?"

Shouldering past him, Severus continued on toward the bespelled cauldron. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Potter."

"That's not an answer."

"Well, it was a stupid question," the former potions professor spat back, his tone acidic. "Stupid questions do not deserve answers."

"You and I both know you're clever enough to argue me into a spiral with non-answers so I forget what my question was; I'm not falling for that. Answer. The. Question."

For a few heartbeats, Severus didn't know whether to be insulted that Potter assumed he would go to such a length simply to prank him, or impressed that despite their . . . contentious past, James Potter had just complimented him. "No," he at last said, firm and final on the matter as he turned to pin the other wizard with a glare. "This is not a prank."

After another second, however, his severe brows pinched together and he shook his head, expression mystified. "And why the bloody hell would you think I'd bother after all this time?" Severus held back an uncomfortable shiver over the way his own words echoed Dumbledore's question to him upon seeing the form of his Patronus.

_After all this time? _Of course. "Lily." He nodded, sighing. "You think I'd do something like that because of Lily?"

"Why shouldn't I?" James frowned, shrugging. Severus seemed to be calming down, but James' temper was spiking. They'd never been close, never been anywhere near friends, never had an honest conversation about this—about her. So he supposed with them around one another without her, it was bound to bubble to the surface. "You and I already hated each other, but you hated even more that she became my friend, that she liked being around me. And then we fell in love and you _despised_ me, didn't you?"

Severus choked out a scoffing sound that nearly sounded amused. "Oh, you _bet _I did. I despised everything about you. Your easy life, how people were drawn to you, your goddamn smarmy grin when you got an answer correct in class. I despised it all!" After a beat, he reeled himself back, drawing a deep breath and exhaling slow through his nostrils. "But what happened with her . . . that was different."

This strangely piqued James' curiosity. "Different how?"

Severus looked dazed. He'd thought for certain . . . . "You really don't know, do you? She never told you?"

Yet another thing James did not like today, he thought, squaring his shoulders and bracing to hear something terrible. "Never told me what?"

"Just like everyone else, you thought I was in love with her."

His head tipping to one side, James' face scrunched. "Oh, no, no. No. Don't lie! You loved her, I _know_ you loved her. Anyone who watched you together could see it in your face! It was in everything you said to her, everything you did for her! It was in how you hurt her!"

"I know. _I_ said it! I said Mudblood because_ I_ was in pain and angry over her choosing you and your stupid little friends and I thought I could put her behind me if I embraced what _my _so-called friends said, how they behaved! I _hate _that word, I never breathed it again in twenty years since the moment I let it fall from my lips that _one _time!"

"Exactly! You were in pain. You were angry because she chose me—she chose us—over you. How can you dare to stand there and tell me you weren't in love with her?"

"Because I've never been_ in_ love with anyone!" Severus Snape's dark eyes were wide and angry with his admission. Even as James' face clouded over with his attempt to understand what the other man meant, Severus tried again to calm himself as he went on. "I loved her; I love her, still. Absolutely. _Always_. She was my best . . . ." He dropped his gaze, swallowing hard. "She was my _only _true friend and you took her away from me. So yes, I despised you for that, but perhaps no more than I despised myself for giving her reason to leave our friendship behind."

James watched Severus' profile in the silence of the broken down shop for a long, silent handful of seconds. "You seriously mean to tell me you've never . . . ?" He seemed dumbfounded by the other man's revelation.

Severus exhaled a long, low breath, his wiry frame sagging. "My heart simply doesn't work that way. It never bothered me. I just don't feel that way toward anyone and I never have."

"_Oh_," James drew out that single syllable and nodded. "And Lily knew?"

Severus nodded back. "Of course she did. Best friend and all that."

"And all this time, you thought she told me?"

Shrugging, Severus turned a distant gaze on the wall over James' shoulder. "I did. I guess it's true what you all said . . . she _was_ too good for me. I didn't deserve her friendship, not if I thought she would do that. I believed that after she heard me say that—that word, she'd want to wound me. And this was something she knew about me that she was fully aware I wanted kept secret."

"Why?"

At the genuine bewilderment from Potter, Severus' brows shot up in equally genuine surprise. "Because no one understood. No one_ would_ understand—that was made perfectly clear to me by my family whenever I reached certain milestones and continued to treat the notion of romantic relationships with disinterest. I was warned anyone in either world I'd been born into would believe I was . . . broken."

James felt a weight settle on his shoulders. "But Lily didn't."

"Lily didn't," Severus echoed, his voice solemn. "I always envied her a little. Right from the moment we met. She was so . . . free and caring. And so loved. She never treated me as though I was wrong, somehow, for not being like other people. I sometimes thought if I had been raised like her, perhaps I would have been taught it wasn't some sort of failing—that it wasn't a thing of which to be ashamed."

Now . . . when James had picked this particular fight—because he most certainly _had,_ even aware this was _not _the time, some habits were hard to break, he supposed—he hadn't expected it would turn into a soul-bearing session. "For what it's worth?" he said in a quiet voice, "Your family are shits for making you feel that way."

That was not what Severus had expected to hear—especially considering the source. "So, you don't think there's something wrong with me?"

His brows lifting, James tossed up his hands. "Oh, no. There's loads of things wrong with you. Just turns out _that_ isn't one of them."

Severus snorted a chuckle in spite of himself. This was an oddly pleasant moment—albeit one with markedly poor timing. How very unsettling.

It seemed apparent by the sudden shift in his expression that James had the same realization. "Oh, _God_. Does this make us . . . friends now?"

For his part, Severus looked absolutely aghast. "Dear Lord, I certainly hope not."

Sucking his teeth—they had a witch to rescue, and here they were chatting!—James nodded and pivoted to face the cauldrons. "Well, now, which of these bad boys managed to swallow up our girl?"

* * *

She blinked hard a few times and then slowly lifted her head. What the bloody hell had just happened? Looking around, she saw a wide, blank chamber of stark grey brick around her, tunnels branching off in several directions. . . . Hermione last recalled losing her balance and tumbling into the mouth of a cauldron that had no business being as large as it was.

This was clearly constructed as some sort of hideout, she realized. There was no other purpose for something like this. The way out—or up, as it were—had to be down one of those tunnels. Looking up, she thought she could make out a slightly warped circle of daylight way overhead.

"Oh, dear." How had she fallen so far and only been disoriented?

A nip at her elbow seemed to answer her unvoiced question. She turned to see Bat hovering just a little in the air over her arm. It was quite disconcerting to see her . . . him? This was not the time. To see the creature flying, to feel the faint rush of air against her skin from its wings, when those wings were not currently visible, thanks to Professor Snape's spell.

She sat up, illuminating her wand as the light from above was just barely enough by which to see Bat and make out her surroundings. "Did you break my fall?" she asked Bat in a whisper, hoping that much like a familiar it could understand human language.

Unexpectedly, the little cat-beastie glided through the air to nuzzle its head against her chin for a brief second.

Her. Heart._ Melted_. "Oh, thank you! You're really a very kind little creature, aren't you?" Climbing to her feet, she dusted off her bum with her free hand. "You can fly. You didn't have to follow me down here, you know. You don't have to stay."

Again Bat floated forward to headbutt her chin.

Hermione was relieved, actually, and not simply because Bat had stopped her fall. She didn't want to be down here alone. "C'mon, back on the shoulder."

Once Bat had reclaimed its perch, she tried to Disapparate—it seemed the simplest way to get back out—but the magic rebounded, resulting in a mere fizzling in the air around them. "Well, there goes that idea. I suppose we should find which of these tunnels might lead—"

"_Hermione?"_

She looked up toward the light at the familiar voice echoing off the walls higher up. A voice which did not belong to the wizard she'd asked Professor Snape to fetch.

"James?" she shouted back, her tone questioning.

"_Thank God! Are you—"_

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" she demanded, suddenly cross with everyone in the world. She was hoping now that the funerals were done with, she would have plenty of time to not be around him—time to sort of . . . detox from the presence of James Potter and its effect on her.

"_Is that really important right now?"_

"It's very important!" She would ignore that she thought if she listened just close enough, she could hear a quiet chuckle rumbling out of Severus Snape. The bastard.

"_Well, I'm going to guess from your current demeanor that you're unharmed, which is what I was trying to ask. Severus was looking for Harry and instead found Remus and me. I came straight here, Remus went to fetch Harry."_

The witch groaned, her entire body sagging in place a moment. "Remus, too?" Honestly. This was all too embarrassing. She'd fallen _into_ a charmed cauldron, she had wanted as few people involved in any sort of rescue attempt as possible. God, she wanted to crawl under a rock . . . once she was out of this cauldron. "Sure, why not? Did you send someone to fetch the entire Weasley clan while you were at it?"

"_Can we perhaps argue later and for now focus on getting you out of there?"_

God, she hated it when people were reasonable during times that she wanted to be difficult and short-tempered. "I think I see a staircase that leads back up, but I have to find where it starts." She paused, once more looking around her immediate environment. "I'm in some sort of main chamber, I think? And there's . . . seven passageways down here—"

"_Merlin's beard, that's a complicated charm on this thing!"_

She couldn't help but snort a giggle at James' abrupt observation, despite her current annoyance with his very existence. "I know, right? And it won't let me leave via magical travel, either. But clearly one of these openings leads to that staircase, so it'll take me a bit, but I'm pretty sure I can get out on my own."

* * *

"All right," James shouted back, though he hated the idea of just . . . sitting up here on his hands and doing nothing while she was down there alone. "You shout up if anything happens. Anything at all!"

"_Oh, I am not some helpless little thing, you know!"_

"Of that I am_ very_ aware!"

"Do you two always bicker like this?" Severus could not mask the amusement in his drawling voice.

James remained stationary, his fingers gripped tight around the edge of the cauldron's mouth, his body leaned forward slightly as he tried to see into its depths. "No, as a matter of fact, we don't. She's just . . . a little edgy with me right now, is all." The last she'd known, he was upset because of a slip up on her part, and he had done nothing to make her feel otherwise. He'd treated everyone abysmally for the last several weeks and she probably internalized the blame for that, too, when all he would've had to do was tell her that his foul mood was not her fault.

"Ah," Severus said, nodding. "So . . . you two have gotten close, have you?"

Scowling, James kept his gaze concentrated on the swath of darkness below. "In a way, I suppose."

Once more Severus nodded, this time touching his fingers to his chin in thought. "Huh."

"Huh?" James echoed the sound.

"Sorry." Clearing his throat, the dark-eyed wizard elaborated. "That sound translates rather distinctly to: Does your son know you're shagging his best friend?"

In shock, James finally relinquished his hold on the cauldron's lip and turned to face Severus, his face drained of color. "_What?!_ " All right, so if not for the revelation about who each of them were to Harry, they actually might've been, well, _there_, but they weren't, dammit! "She and I are not—"

"There you are! Where's Hermione? Is she okay?" The questions poured out of Harry's mouth at the same time as he and Remus burst through the door.

James and Severus both gave a start as they turned to face the shouting from the shop entrance. James lost his footing on the uneven floor before the cauldron and stumbled backward.

"_Dad!"_

Harry and Remus both shot forward, reaching the cauldron just as a very surprised James vanished into the darkness below.

Severus' dark eyes were wide with disbelief as he looked from the depths of the cauldron to the pair who'd just entered the scene. "That is precisely what happened to Miss Granger."


	13. Twelve: HG & the Big, Stupid Cauldron

**Chapter Twelve**

Hermione Granger & the Really Big, Really _Stupid _Cauldron

"Oh, you _must_ be joking!"

When his unexpected plummet came to an abrupt halt that did not involve any shattered bones, James opened his eyes to find himself suspended above the ground. Though he couldn't gauge exactly how high up he was, it was clear the witch below him could walk beneath his body unhindered and still have a little room to spare.

He'd been caught so off-guard he'd not had the chance to cast anything to cushion his fall on his own. He assumed he'd look up and see Hermione's wand pointed at him, but she merely stood there, arms folded stubbornly under her breasts and her illuminated wand clenched tight in the fist tucked beneath her elbow so that her Lumos charm's brightness glinted off the ends of her wild hair.

The little black cat on her shoulder, however, was staring at him with an unsettling amount of concentration in its tiny feline face.

"Hermione? What's—?"

"You can let him down, now," she said softly.

The cat's features smoothed and James dropped the last several feet. Groaning, he contemplated that it could've been much worse. Carefully dragging himself to his feet, he dusted off his robes.

"You should thank Bat for not letting you hit the ground."

"Bat?" he echoed, knowing she could only mean the creature perched on her shoulder like a pirate's bloody parrot.

She wasn't looking at him, instead staring off down the nearest of the darkened corridors before turning her attention upward. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted to the others. "He's fine."

"_Thank God. I can probably reach those stairs,"_ Harry called back to them. "_If I come down, maybe we can meet half-way and I can lead you back up._"

"Absolutely _not_! If you miss the landing you'll fall!" James touched his side and winced. He must've dropped harder than he'd thought that last bit of the way. "Even if you land right, we've no idea where all these corridors lead. You could get just as lost trying to find your way to us and then there'd be three idiots wandering around down here."

Hermione glowered over the implication that falling in here would make Harry an idiot, because it further implied _she _was an idiot for already have fallen in, but kept silent, since he was also being fair enough to call_ himself_ an idiot. She didn't want to intervene between James and Harry after so long of the older Potter wizard finally breaking through his own broodiness.

"_As opposed to the three of us standing up here twiddling our thumbs like a bunch of useless idiots?" _

James shook his head, sighing. "Not the time for snark, Severus."

"Look, the only way out of here without anyone else getting stuck is for James and me to go find that staircase and come back up to you. That's it, there _is_ no argument."

"_She's right_," Remus said, his words soft in comparison to the other two hollering down to them, ever the voice of reason.

"We'll try to be quick," Hermione assured them before giving a headshake of her own. "Honestly, four people were up there and_ you're_ the one who fell in," she tacked on in an unhappy whisper. "Just bloody perfect."

James' shoulders slumped, a frown gracing his lips. "Look, I know you're upset with me for being so . . . so . . . ."

"_Broody_," she supplied.

"Broody," he repeated with a resigned sigh.

"Let me stop you. I don't want to have this conversation."

His lips pressed into a thoughtful line. "How do you know what conversation we're going to have if you won't have it?"

Chestnut eyes lit gold by her wand's illumination narrowed in irritation. That's precisely the sort of thing she'd say if she wanted to corner another person into having a conversation they didn't want to have!

He uttered a chuckle at her exasperated expression. The rough exhalation caused him to wince again, pressing a gentle hand against his side.

He must've made a noise and not realized it, because she finally looked at it him then. She visibly struggled to hold onto the bitter look in her eyes as she asked in a tone that failed to pass for casual concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She dropped her arms to her sides. "If Harry were as poor a liar as you are, we'd have lost the Second War long before it even started."

James sighed. "Fine. I think I may have . . . bruised a rib. It's nothing. We can check it when we're out of here."

Oh, well now she felt bad. Not for dropping him, she had no way of knowing Bat was going to pick up on her current negative emotional state, but for the fact that she was being a little . . . ridiculous, even perhaps a bit immature in her reaction to his presence. She supposed it wasn't too far outside the realm of possibility to consider that her behavior was a direct response to the fact that regardless of who she'd discovered him to be, his standoffish manner the past several weeks, or any potential budding thing her friends claimed to notice between he and another wizard, entirely, she still found herself thinking about James Potter far more often than she should.

Far more often than she knew was appropriate. And his 'broody' demeanor had made her feel awful, responsible for his soured expression and the aura of darkness hanging over him since their so-long-ago seeming chat in Andromeda Tonks' kitchen.

Waving dismissively, and speaking against her own better judgment, she said, "Let's have a look."

Hazel eyes widened in the dim lighting. "What?"

"We should at least check if it's _really_ just bruised. If it's broken, we need to wrap your middle before we get moving or you could make it worse."

James frowned, reluctantly opening his robes—just enough that she could get examine the area where his ribcage met his abdomen. "Wrap it with what, exactly?"

The witch rolled her eyes as she knelt down for a better angle, bringing her wand close to the injury. "I have first aid supplies." The comment was more off-handed than she'd intended, but she was so used to Harry and Ron, who had come to rather expect as much of her.

He refrained from giving her a once-over. Those jeans she was wearing seemed a little too snug to be secretly toting about a kit of some sort. But then he spied that little bag of hers—the one he recalled her pulling a fresh change of clothes from in the caverns beneath Gringotts.

"Right, your magic bag. Forgot about that."

Her gaze flicked up to catch his for just a moment before she warned, "Okay, this might hurt a bit."

His breath caught in his throat at the feel of her fingertips running along his ribs. It wasn't pain, not yet. It was just her touch. Gentle and warm, he sort of hated it . . . because he knew he liked it. And he knew how terrible and how complicated that was.

He jerked to one side, inhaling sharply through his teeth.

"There," she said in a low tumble of sound. "There's no bruising yet and it doesn't seem to be swelling, but . . . . Does it hurt when you breathe?"

"Only if I unexpectedly breathe too deep," he answered thoughtfully.

"Did you feel or hear a crack when you fell?"

"No."

She sat back on her heels, letting out a sigh of relief as she nodded. "Okay, it's _probably_ not broken, but I'd feel better binding it just in case I'm wrong."

"You don't have to . . . ." James pursed his lips, letting his words fall off as he noticed she was already rummaging about in her bag.

"Stop being a baby," she nearly snapped as she climbed to her feet, bandage in hand.

In a carefully controlled tone, he spoke as he—just as reluctantly as before—peeled back the shoulders of his robes and let the fabric fall around him. "I'm not being a baby." Thank Merlin for belts, at least he could remain partially clothed for this adventure.

"You're fussy like a baby." She guided him to raise his arms and then started unwinding the spooled bandage around him, binding the lower portion of his ribcage. Hermione was completely ignoring many things right now. That dusting of dark hair on his chest that she'd noted back during the night of the ball. That he seemed to shiver a little each time she leaned close wrap the bandage around his back. That his skin actually smelled quite nice. That he was annoyingly fit.

"Hermione?"

She didn't answer, finishing tying off the bandage and then turning away to start toward the nearest of the mystery doors. If James didn't know any better, he'd swear that cat on her shoulder was flicking its tail in an irritation directed solely at him.

His shoulders slumped while he trailed after her. "Hermione?"

"What?" She kept her attention straight ahead as he fell into step beside her.

"I'm sorry I made you feel so terrible," he blurted out the words, clearly thinking she might cut him off.

Chewing at her lower lip, she halted. She pivoted on her heel to face him, only to cast her gaze upward just as fast, her cheeks flooding pink. "Could you _please_ close your robes?"

"Hmm?" He looked down at himself to realize he'd not bothered righting them, having ignored his state of partial-undress to chase after her. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he did as asked. "Sorry. All good, now."

The way she lowered her eyes was slow, cautious, nearly as though she considered that he might be lying. Perhaps that wasn't fair to him, but she was still angry with his mopey antics. And maybe still just a little annoyed with herself that she couldn't seem to help being attracted to him.

Finding him fully covered, she let herself relax a bit. Bat curled into a ball against her neck, rubbing her cheek with its own.

"Look, it's not how you made me feel that upset me."

His brows shot upward in doubt.

She snorted a short, derisive laugh. "_Did_ that upset me? Okay, yeah. But that's not the important thing. My feelings are . . . they're whatever. But you almost pushed Harry away with how you were acting."

James closed his eyes, heaving a weighted sigh.

Hermione could feel her throat threatening to close up on her, but she powered on. "Do you even understand how hard that was to watch? There wasn't anyone in the world who ever had a happier moment than when Harry found you standing before him for the first time. There were so many times over the years that he _wished_ you could've been part of his life and now you are! Now you're here and you're cocking things up!"

She was right. He knew she was, but hearing it aloud—hearing it from her—was a gut punch. Sniffling, he nodded. "I know."

"Do you?" God, she hadn't realized she'd been keeping all this in. The fingers of her free hand trembled as he pressed them to her face in an attempt to steady herself. Days would pass where she wouldn't shed a tear for the dead no matter how the loss hit her, because she was so focused on Harry. On the way he tried to hide how it hurt him to know that the truth his of childhood pained his father so. "You were_ so_ wrapped up in how angry you were at the Dursleys that you shut him out! You couldn't see your own son's face as his heart was breaking right in front of you."

A silent moment flickered between them as his features closed down.

She shook her head. "So . . . yeah, I'm angry that you made me feel like shit over telling you about them before Harry was ready, but I'm what really, really, makes me just want to hex you ten ways from Sunday is how you hurt Harry."

James opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. To his credit, her wand's light glittered off a damp gleam in them. "I'm going to make it up to him. I'm over that now. He deserves for me to be_ here_ for him, and that's what I mean to do."

"Well . . . good." Turning on her heel, she started toward the door again.

"Hermione?" he said again, and again she didn't answer.

"Hermione," he tried once more. "You're crying."

"So what?" Her words were garbled. "I cry a _lot_ I'll have you know! I hate it, but it's true."

"Oh, God," he exhaled the words. Against his better judgment—as seemed a theme whenever they were together, he supposed—he slipped a hand around her elbow. Tugging her to a halt, he turned her to face him. The motion jostled the unhappy Bat from her shoulder and the creature hovered in the air, its little face glowering at James.

"I don't need a—"

Her words were cut off by his arms circling her in a firm, gentle hug. "Stubborn woman." His voice was no more than a whisper against her hair.

She hated that she was returning his embrace before she even realized it. She hated that he felt so warm and solid and safe. She especially hated that there was something in his closeness she found soothing.

She hated that she was so easily comforted by him!

Hermione pressed her face against his chest and let herself sob. Fat, ugly, tears full of anger and sorrow drenched his robes beneath her cheeks.

He closed his eyes, letting his chin rest atop her hair. Maybe _this_ was all they could ever have—closeness in the guise of comfort. Maybe this could be enough. Maybe that was for the best, as he hated that she felt so perfect in his arms. He had no idea it was possible to in the same moment want so much to push someone away_ and_ to never let them go.

After she'd quieted a bit, he uttered a warm, hushed laugh and he shook his head over the top of hers. "Didn't need a hug, she says."

"Shut up."

A half-grin curving his lips, he slid his arms away, enough to slip his fingers around her upper arms. He pulled her back to look at her.

"What?" she asked, sniffling.

"You're a fright."

She laughed in spite of herself as she tugged out of his grasp. She would pretend she wasn't a little melted by the look in his eyes as he wiped at her cheeks with his thumbs. Something . . . protective there.

"We should hurry," she said, nodding, pushing away the regretfully comfortable moment. "We don't know how long this could take."

James stepped in front of her. "I feel like I should go first. We have no idea what might be waiting behind any of these doors."

Hermione was perfectly aware that normally, she'd be a bit put off by that sort of thing. Now, however, she gave a sideways nod and frowned thoughtfully. "Well, if there's ever a time a woman appreciates a man being chivalrous . . . ."

He snickered, shaking his head. They each braced, his open hand and her wand trained on the door. Bat hovered behind her shoulder, peering out.

James yanked open the door. Silence and darkness greeted them.

His shoulders drooped. "Huh. Well, that was rather anticlimactic." He conjured a Lumos of his own in the palm of his hand.

They each crossed the threshold cautiously, finding a winding tunnel unfurling before them.

"Not thrilled with this, but we have to see where it leads."

Hermione uttered an affirmative sound, yet as he started walking, he only heard his own footfalls.

He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. "Hermione?

She blinked hard a few times, giving her head a shake. "James, I . . . ." Another shake, her gaze darting about. "How long have we been down here?"

Her voice was soft, vaguely confused in a way that alarmed him as much as her question had. Facing her completely, he placed a hand on her shoulder—the shoulder opposite where the standoffish Bat had reclaimed its perch.

"Maybe twenty minutes?"

"Twenty . . . ."

"What's wrong?" he demanded, tipping his head to catch her gaze.

"I just . . . . I can't tell. It feels like we just got here, but like we've been here forever. I don't know what's wrong with me."

He swallowed hard, slipping his hand around hers. "C'mon, we've just got to find our way out of here."

He started walking through the tunnel, guiding her along behind him. He didn't want to think on what kind of ward might be causing her to lose sense of time, nor did he want to consider that whatever it was might start affecting him soon, too.


End file.
